SAW    A    DFI.L    MKAVV    SMOKE 


E    ARI.K    TO    THE    OKRIX,, 


A  MODERN  ALADDIN 

OR,  THE  WONDERFUL  ADVENTURES 
OF  OLIVER  MUNIER 


Bn  3E£trav>agan3a  In  afour  Bets 


BY  HOWARD  PYLE 

AUTHOR  OF  "  PEPPER  A!<D  SALT  "  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW   YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,   FRANKLIN    SQUARE 
1892 


Copyright,  1891,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


All  rights  reserved. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


"HE  SAW  A  DULL  HEAVY  SMOKE  ARISE  TO  THE 

CEILING" Frontispiece 

"HE   WAS   A    TALL,   DARK    GENTLEMAN,  DRESSED    IN 

BLACK  FROM  HEAD  TO  FOOT" To  face  page      8 

"  '  I  AM  THY  UNCLE,'  SAID  THE  STRANGE  GENTLE 
MAN "  ......  o  . "  "  12 

"AT   THAT   MOMENT   SHE    LOOKED   UP "        ....         "  "  18 

"HE  SUDDENLY  BEGAN  AN  UNCOUTH,  GROTESQUE 
DANCE" "  "  22 

"  HE   LIGHTED  A  MATCH   AND   DROPPED   IT   INTO  THE 

VASE" "  "  30 

"  OLIVER  GAVE  A  PIPING  CRY " "  "  36 

"AT  THE  OPEN  DOOR -WAY  STOOD  GASPARD  AND 

HIS  MASTER" "  "  42 

"  CREEPING  CAUTIOUSLY  FORWARD,  OLIVER  CAME  TO 

THE  CHIMNEY-PIECE" "         "        46 

"'  GOOD-DAY,  MONSIEUR,'  SAID   A   FAMILIAR   VOICE  "         "  u  56 

"  THE  QUESTION  WAS  SO  SUDDEN  AND  SO  STARTLING 

THAT  OLIVER  SANK  BACK  IN  HIS  SEAT"  ..."         "         58 
"  SUCH  WAS  THE  WORKSHOP  IN  WHICH  THE  TWO 

LABORED  TOGETHER" .      "        "        70 

''THEY  SAW  ARNOLD  DE  VILLENEUVE,  THE  GREAT 

MASTER,  UPON  THE  FLOOR"  ......  ,  "  "  74 

"SHE  HELD  THE  BOOK  IN  THE  FLAMES  WHILE  TALK 
ING,  HER  EYES  FIXED  INTENTLY  UPON  IT "  .  .  "  "  84 

"HE   LEANED   OVER   AND    LOOKED    INTO   HER   FACE"        "  "  86 


Vi  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

"AND    STRIPPKD    THE    FALSE    BODY   OFF    OF    HIM    AS 

YOU  MIGHT  "STRIP  OFF  A  MAN'S  COAT"     .     .       To  face  page    94 

"HE     SAW    WITHIN     AN     OVAL     MIIUIOK     SET     IN     A 

HEAVY   FRAME    OF   COPPER5' 

''THE    INNKEEPER   SERVED   HIM   IN    PERSON"  .      .       . 

"'MAD!'  SAID  OLIVER,  'WHY  AM  i  MAD?'"      .     .  110 

"HE  IS  CLAD  IN  A  LOOSE  DRESSING-ROBE  OF  FIG 
URED  CLOTH,  AND  LIES  IN  BED  READING  HIS 
BOOK" "  "'I* 

"  OLIVER  SPREAD  OUT  THE  GEMS  UPON  THE  TABLE 

n  "  "  1 94. 

WITH  HIS  HAND" 

''ENTER  OLIVER  AND  MADEMOISELLE  CELESTE" 

UIDO  YOU  KNOW,'  SAID  THE  MARQUIS,  '  WHAT  A 

THING  IT  IS  THAT  YOU  ASK?'" 136 

i;IIE   SANK   ON   HIS   KNEES   BESIDE   HER",      ..."  "         140 

"SHE  DREW  HER  DOWN  UNTIL  THE  GIRL  KNEELED 
UPON  THE  FLOOR  BESIDE  HER" 

'•'MONSIEUR   THE   COUNT  DE   ST.  GERMAINE  !' "    .      .         "  148 

'•THE  COUNT  DE  ST.  GERMAINE,  WITHOUT  REMOVING 
HIS  EYES  FROM  HIS  VICTIM,  TOOK  ANOTHER  DEEP, 
LUXURIOUS  PINCH  OF  SNUFF" 152 

"  OLIVER  FIXED  HIS  GAZE  UPON  THE  SMOOTH,  BRILL 
IANT  SURFACE  Oy  THE  GLASS "  .  .  .  *  .  "  166 

''THEY  BEHELD  THEIR  MASTER  LYING  UPON  HIS 

FACE  UNDER  THE  TABLE".  ..,..,,"  176 

"  SUDDENLY  SOME  ONE  TOUCHED  OLIVER  SLIGHTLY 

UPON  THE  SHOULDER" "        "       178 

"  '  CELESTE  !'    BREATHED    OLIVER    THROUGH    THE 

CRACK   OF  THE   DOOR"    .      ,      k "  "         186 

"  HE  FOUND  IN  HIS  CLINCHED  HAND  A  LACE  CRA 
VAT "  "  "  194 

"  OVER  HIS  SHOULDERS  HE  CARRIED  SOMETHING 
LIMP,  LIKE  AN  EMPTY  SKIN,  OR  A  BUNDLE  OF 
CLOTHES  TIED  TOGETHER "  - "  "  198 


A   MODERN    ALADDIN; 

OR, 

THE  WONDERFUL  ADVENTURES  OF  OLIVER  MTJNIEB. 

in  tfour  Bets. 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 


PROLOGUE. 

The  Comte  de  St.-Germaine  was  a  real  his 
torical  character.  Of  all  the  many  adventur 
ers  brilliant  and  volatile  that  flitted  across  the 
polished  surface  of  Parisian  life  during  the 
gay  butterfly  days  of  La  Pompadour,  none  was 
more  interesting,  none  left  a  more  fascinating 
reflection,  than  he.  No  one  knew  who  he  was, 
no  one  knew  his  antecedents,  no  one  knew 
whence  he  came,  but  there  he  suddenly  ap 
peared,  to  shine  transiently  and  somewhat  lurid 
ly  for  a  year  or  two  in  a  certain  heaven  of  quasi 
high  life. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  sudden  than 
his  advent.  One  day  he  was  unheard  of;  the 
next,  all  the  world  talked  of  him,  gazed  at  him, 
and  wondered.  Great  people  adopted  him  and 
made  much  of  him ;  courtiers  and  cabinet  minis- 


ters  bowed  to  him ;  the  king  petted  him,  talked 
with  him  in  his  privy  closet  by  the  hour,  and 
held  long  and  intimate  discourse  with  him.  He 
possessed  the  rare  and  distinguished  privilege  of 
a  free  and  familiar  entree  to  Madame  de  Pompa 
dour's  dressing-room  — a  crowning  honor,  and 
one  only  enjoyed  by  the  greatest  and  most  fa 
vored  courtiers. 

And,  indeed,  the  Parisian  world  had  more 
cause  to  wonder  and  to  marvel  at  him  than  at 
many  another  star  that  shone  at  different  times 
in  that  firmament.  First  it  was  a  whisper  that 
got  about  that  he  was  three,  some  said  four,  and 
others  five  hundred  years  old.  Then  it  was  said 
that  there  were  those  who  had  known  him,  gay, 
handsome,  brilliant,  fifty  years  before  — as  gay, 
as  handsome,  as  brilliant.  Then  came  a  second 
whispering  rumor — that  he  was  the  richest  man 
in  the  world— a  rumor  also  somewhat  confirmed, 
for  there  were  those,  whose  word  was  indisputa 
ble,  who  vouched  to  his  having  shown  them  in- 
calcuable  treasures  of  diamonds.  He  himself 
never  laid  claim  either  to  the  extreme  age  or  to 
the  incalculable  treasure,  but  the  world  claimed 
the  one  and  talked  of  the  other  for  him.  And 
all  the  talk  and  gossip  seemed  to  be  built  upon 
good  foundation. 

For  example,  said  Madame  de  Pompadour  to 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  5 

him  one  day,  "Bat  you  do  not  tell  us  your  age, 
and  yet  the  Comtess  de  Gergy,  who  was  ambas 
sadress  at  Vienna  more  than  fifty  years  ago,  says 
that  she  saw  you  there  then  exactly  the  same  as 
you  now  appear." 

"It  is  quite  true,  madame,"  replied  St.-Ger- 
maine,  quietly,  "  that  I  knew  Madame  de  Gergy 
many  years  ago." 

"  But,  according  to  her  account,  you  must  be 
more  than  a  hundred  years  old  ?" 

"  That  is  not  impossible,"  said  he ;  and  then 
added,  laughing,  "  but  it  is  quite  possible  that 
the  countess  is  in  her  dotage." 

As  for  his  vast  wealth,  that  also  stood  upon 
substantial  foundation.  The  Baron  de  Sleichen 
says,  in  his  Memoirs,  that  one  day  the  count 
showed  him  so  many  diamonds  that  he  thought 
he  saw  all  the  treasures  of  Aladdin's  lamp  spread 
out  before  him.  He  showed  Madame  de  Pom 
padour  a  little  box  of  precious  stones  worth 
more  than  half  a  million  livres.  Says  Madame 
de  Hausset :  "  The  count  came  to  see  Madame 
de  Pompadour,  who  was  very  ill.  He  showed 
her  diamonds  enough  to  furnish  a  king's  treas 
ury.  At  still  another  time,  when  a  number  of 
the  principal  courtiers  were  present,  he  visited 
madame's  apartments  wearing  magnificent  dia 
mond  knee  and  shoe  buckles.  At  her  request 


6  A   MODERN    ALADDIX. 

he  went  into  an  adjoining  apartment  and  re 
moved  them  for  closer  inspection.  They  were 
worth,  M.  de  Gontat  said,  not  less  than  twenty 
thousand  livres." 

So  it  came  about  that  the  Comte  de  St.-Ger- 
maine  shone,  a  brilliant  star  in  his  firmament, 
for  a  while ;  then  suddenly  he  vanished,  and  the 
Parisian  world  saw  him  no  more.  For  six  days 
that  world  wondered  and  speculated  concerning 
his  disappearance ;  then,  on  the  seventh  day,  it 
forgot  him. 


A   MODEEN   ALADDIN. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  FIRST. — A  street  in  Flourens,  the  house  of  the  late 
Jean  Munier,  tailor,  in  the  foreground. 

FLOUEENS  was  a  little  town  lying  quite  out  of 
the  usual  route  of  young  English  travellers  of 
rich  connections  making  the  "grand  tour,"  and 
so,  having  nothing  to  recommend  it  in  itself,  was 
unknown  to  the  great  world  without — dull,  stu 
pid,  stagnant.  Hardly  ever  a  visitor  from  that 
great  outside  world  appeared  within  the  circle  of 
its  hopeless  isolation.  So  it  was  a  very  strange 
thing  to  the  town  when  one  morning  a  great 
coach,  as  big  as  a  house,  dragged  by  four  horses, 
with  postilions  clad  in  scarlet  faced  with  blue, 
their  legs  incased  in  huge  jack-boots,  and  each 
with  a  club  queue  as  thick  as  his  wrist  hanging 
down  his  back,  came  whirling,  rattling,  lumber 
ing,  in  the  midst  of  a  swirling  cloud  of  dust,  into 
the  silence  of  the  town.  It  was  twice  wonderful 
when  the  coach  stopped  at  the  inn,  and  it  was 
thrice  wonderful  when  an  odd,  lean,  wizened 
little  man,  evidently  the  servant,  let  down  the 


8  A   MODERN   ALADDIX. 

steps  and  helped  a  strange  gentleman  from  with 
in.  He  was  a  tall,  dark  gentleman,  dressed  in 
black  from  head  to  foot — from  the  black  hat  with 
the  black  feather  to  the  black  silk  stockings. 
From  the  gentleman's  shoulder  hung  a  long 
black  cloak  trimmed  and  lined  with  black  fur, 
and  Flourens  had  never  seen  his  like  before.  He 
neither  looked  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  but, 
without  saying  good  or  bad  to  any  living  soul,  he 
and  the  odd,  lean  little  servant  entered  the  inn, 
leaving  the  crowd  that  stood  without  staring  and 
gaping  after  him.  Then  the  great  coach  disap 
peared  through  the  arched  gate  that  led  to  the 
stable -yard,  but  it  was  a  long  time  before  the 
crowd  began  to  disperse,  before  the  gossiping  be 
gan  to  cease,  before  the  cloud  of  silence  and  dul- 
ness  and  stagnation  settled  by  degrees  upon  the 
town  again.  Now  it  was  maybe  an  hour  and  a 
half,  and  the  last  of  those  who  had  looked  and 
wondered  had  gone  about  their  business. 

All  is  quiet,  dull,  heavily  silent  again,  and  in 
all  the  bald  stretch  of  road  nothing  is  to  be 
seen  but  two  women  gossiping  at  a  gate- way, 
and  a  solitary  cat  upon  a  garden  wall  watching 
two  sparrows  chirping  and  fluttering  upon  the 
eaves. 

It  is  with  this  setting  that  the  play  opens,  and 
Oliver  Munier,  the  son  of  the  late  Jean  Munier, 


"HE  WAS    A  TALL,  DARK    GENTLEMAN,   DRESSED    IN    BLACK    FROM    HEAD 
TO    FOOT." 


A    MODEKN    ALADDIN.  9 

is  discovered  leaning  against  the  wall  of  the 
house,  basking  in  the  sun,  his  blouse  tucked  up, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  a  straw  in  his  mouth, 
which  he  now  and  then  chews  passively  in  drow 
sy  laziness.  Within,  his  mother  is  busied  about 
the  house-work,  now  and  then  rattling  and  stir 
ring  among  the  pots  and  pans,  now  and  then 
scolding  at  him  in  a  shrill,  high-pitched  voice,  to 
which  he  listens  with  half-shut  eyes,  chewing  his 
straw  the  while. 

"  I  know  not,"  said  she,  stopping  for  a  moment 
in  her  work  that  her  words  might  have  more 
force  in  the  pause — "  I  know  not  whether  thou 
wert  born  so,  but  thou  art  the  laziest  scamp  that 
ever  my  two  eyes  saw.  Here  art  thou  eighteen 
years  old,  and  yet  hast  never  earned  a  single 
sou  to  pay  for  keeping  body  and  soul  together 
since  thy  poor  father  died  five  months  ago. 
Poor  soul !  with  him  it  was  snip,  snip,  snip, 
stitch,  stitch,  stitch.  There  was  never  a  tailor  in 
Picardy  like  him.  His  poor  legs  were  bent  like 
crooked  billets  from  sitting  cross-legged,  and  his 
poor  fingers  were  as  rough  as  horn  from  the 
prick  of  the  needle.  Thou  lazy  vagabond,  with 
him  it  was  work,  work,  work." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Oliver,  without  turning  his 
head,  "  it  was  hard  work  that  killed  my  poor 
father." 


10  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

" Perhaps  it  was,"  said  bis  mother;  "but  it 
will  never  do  thee  a  harm." 

Oliver  shifted  the  straw  he  was  chewing  from 
one  side  of  his  mouth  to  the  other.  "  Yery  well," 
said  he.  "  Is  not  one  in  the  family  enough  to  die 
of  the  same  thing  ?" 

"  Humph !"  said  his  mother,  and  went  back  to 
her  work  with  more  clatter  than  ever. 

Just  then,  at  the  farther  end  of  the  street,  the 
inn  door  opened,  and  the  strange  gentleman  in 
black  came  out,  followed  first  by  his  servant,  and 
then  by  Pierre,  the  landlord.  He  stopped  for  a 
moment  at  the  head  of  a  flight  of  stone  steps, 
and  Pierre  pointed,  as  Oliver  thought,  towards 
their  house.  Then  the  strange  gentleman  came 
slowly  down  the  steps,  and  picking  his  way 
around  the  puddles  where  the  water  from  the 
trough  flowed  across  the-  road  and  followed  by 
his  servant,  came  down  the  street  towards  where 
Oliver  stood.  At  his  coming  a  sudden  breeze  of 
interest  seemed  to  awaken  in  the  street.  The 
two  gossips  turned  and  looked  after  him ;  the 
cat  sat  up  on  the  wall,  and  also  looked ;  and  the 
two  sparrows  stopped  chirping,  and  seemed  to 
look.  Two  or  three  women  appeared  at  the 
door- ways  with  children ;  three  or  four  heads 
were  thrust  out  at  the  windows,  and  Oliver,  tak 
ing  his  hands  out  of  his  pockets,  removed  the 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  11 

straw  that  he  might  see  better  without  the  in 
terruption  of  chewing. 

The  strange  gentleman,  when  he  had  come 
to  within  a  little  distance  of  Oliver,  stopped,  and 
beckoning  to  the  little  lean  serving-man  who 
followed  him,  held  a  short  whispered  talk  with 
him.  The  little  lean  serving-man  nodded,  and 
then  the  stranger  came  straight  across  the 
street. 

Oliver  gaped  like  a  fish. 

"  You  are  Oliver  Munier  ?"  said  the  strange 
gentleman. 

"  Yes,"  said  Oliver,  "  I  am." 

The  strange  gentleman  opened  his  arms,,  and 
before  Oliver  knew  what  had  happened,  he  found 
himself  being  embraced  in  the  open  street,  with 
all  those  looking  on. 

"  I  am  thy  uncle,"  said  the  strange  gentleman, 
with  a  gulp,  and  thereupon,  releasing  Oliver,  he 
took  a  fine  cambric  handkerchief  out  of  his 
pocket  and  wiped  his  eyes. 

Oliver  stood  dumb  and  gaping.  He  did  not 
know  whether  he  was  asleep  or  awake.  "My 
uncle !"  he  repeated,  stupidly,  at  last. 

"  Yes,  thy  uncle." 

"  My  uncle !"  repeated  Oliver  again. 

"  And  thy  dear  mother  ?"  asked  the  strange 
gentleman. 


12  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

"  She  is  in  the  house,"  said  Oliver ;  and  then 
he  called, "  Mother !  mother !" 

And  his  mother,  stopping  the  clattering  with 
the  pots  and  pans,  came  to  the  door,  and  then, 
seeing  a  strange  gentleman,  stood  quite  still  and 
stared. 

"  Mother,"  said  Oliver,  "  here  is  a  man  who 
says  he  is  my  uncle." 

"  Your  what  ?"  said  his  mother. 

"  My  uncle." 

".Your  uncle  ?" 

"  His  uncle,"  said  the  strange  gentleman. 

"  I  never  knew  the  child  had  one,"  said  Olivers 
mother. 

"  What,"  said  the  strange  gentleman.  "  Did 
Jean  Marie  never  speak  of  me  — his  brother 
Henri  ?  Ah  me !  Well,  perhaps  he  was  ashamed 
of  me,  for  I  was  the  black-sheep  of  the  flock.  I 
have  been  to  the  Americas  ever  since  I  ran  away 
from  home  two-and-thirty  years  ago,  and  now  I 
have  come  back  rich— very  rich." 

At  the  word  "  rich,"  Oliver's  mother  started  as 
if  she  had  been  stung.  "  Oliver,"  she  cried,  "  why 
do  you  stand  gaping  there  like  a  stupid  sot? 
You  lazy  vagabond,  bring  your  uncle  into  the 
house !  And  you,  Monsieur  Brother,  come  in, 
come  in !"  And  she  almost  dragged  the  strange 
gentleman  through  the  door-way.  "  Brush  your 


I    AM    THY    UNCLE,'  SAID    THE    STRANGE    GENTLEMAN." 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  13 

uncle  a  chair,  Oliver,  brush  your  uncle  a  chair ! 
There,  Monsieur  Brother,  that  is  very  good. 
Now  will  you  not  sit  down  and  rest  after  having 
come  all  the  way  from  the  Americas  ?" 

"  My  servant — "  began  the  strange  gentleman. 

"  We  have  room  for  him  also ;  we  have  room 
for  him  as  well,"  said  Oliver's  mother.  "  Come, 
Monsieur  Servant.  Oliver,  dust  him  a  chair  also." 

"Very  good,"  said  the  strange  gentleman; 
"  but  it  is  not  that.  I  had  thought  that  a  little 
supper — 

"  He  shall  have  his  supper,"  said  Oliver's  moth 
er.  "  There  is  enough  for  him  and  for  all  the 
rest  of  us ;  but  no  thanks  to  that  son  of  mine 
for  that.  As  lazy  a  vagabond  as  ever  you  saw, 
Monsieur  Brother.  He,  too,  might  have  been  a 
tailor,  as  w^as  his  father ;  but  no,  he  will  not 
work.  He  would  rather  beg  or  starve  than 
work." 

"  That  is  of  no  importance,"  said  the  strange 
gentleman.  "Oliver  will  have  no  need  to  work ; 
we  shall  make  a  gentleman  of  Oliver.  But  I  was 
about  to  say  that  I  have  ordered  a  little  supper 
at  the  inn,  and  my  servant  will  go  and  bring  it. 
Go,  Gaspard,  and  see  that  all  is  done  well.  In 
the  mean  time  let  us  talk  over  family  matters 
among  ourselves.  See,  here  am  I,  come,  as  I 
said,  from  the  Americas,  and  without  a  soul  be- 


14:  A    MODERN    ALADDIN. 

longing  to  me  but  my  servant  Gasparcl.  Let  us, 
then,  all  live  together — you,  my  sister,  and  Oliver 
and  me  and  Gaspard.  To-night  I  will  sleep  here 
in  your  house.  To-morrow  Oliver  and  I  shall  go 
to  Paris  and  choose  another  lodging,  for  this  is  a 
poor  place  for  the  sister  and  the  nephew  of  a  rich 
American  to  live." 

Oliver's  mother  looked  around  her.  "  Yes," 
said  she,  "  that  is  true.  It  is  a  poor  place,  a  very 
poor  place." 

"  Here  is  Gaspard  with  the  little  supper,"  said 
Oliver's  new  uncle. 

Some  one  had  knocked.  Oliver  opened  the 
door,  and  Gaspard  came  in,  followed  by  Jacques, 
the  man  from  the  inn,  carrying  a  great  basket 
upon  his  head.  Oliver  and  his  mother  stared 
with  open  eyes  and  mouths,  for  they  had  never 
seen  such  a  little  supper  as  the  ugly  servant  had 
fetched  from  the  inn. 

"  Gaspard  saw  to  the  cooking,"  said  the  new 
uncle.  "  Gaspard  is  a  famous  cook,  and  I 
do  not  know  how  I  could  get  along  without 
him." 

Oliver  watched  the  servant  furtively,  and  the 
longer  he  looked  the  more  he  felt  something  that 
made  his  skin  creep.  The  servant  was,  as  was 
said,  a  little  thin,  wiry  man,  and  he  had  a  lean, 


A  MODERN  ALADDIN.  15 

livid  face  and  straight  black  hair  that  almost 
met  the  slanting  eyebrows ;  he  had  a  pair  of 
little  twinkling  black  eyes,  mouse-like  and  cun 
ning  ;  he  had  thin,  blue,  grinning  lips  that  showed 
every  now  and  then  beneath  them  a  set  of  large 
white  teeth ;  he  had  a  long,  sharp  chin  that  stuck 
out  like  that  of  a  punchinello ;  he  was  unpleas 
ant  to  look  at,  but  then  he  was  a  good  servant — 
yes,  he  was  a  good  servant ;  he  might  have  had 
felt  upon  his  feet  for  all  the  noise  he  made,  and 
he  spread  the  table  with  only  a  faint  chink  or 
tingle  now  and  then  to  show  that  he  was  at 
work.  So  Oliver  sat  watching  him  from  under 
his  brows,  while  the  new  uncle  talked  with  his 
mother. 

At  last  Gaspard  drew  back  from  the  table  and 
bowed. 

"  Come,"  said  the  new  uncle,  drawing  up  a 
chair,  "let  us  have  supper." 


SCENE  SECOND. — Midnight  in  Flourens  ;  a  flood  of  moonlight 
falling  across  the  bare  and  naked  street,  mystic,  colorless. 

Oliver  felt  himself  rising  like  a  bubble  through 
the  black  waters  of  sleep.  A  noise,  a  shrill,  pene 
trating  noise,  was  ringing  in  his  ears,  and  then 
suddenly,  as  the  bubble  breaks,  he  became  wide- 


16  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

awake  and  sat  up.  At  first  lie  did  not  know 
where  he  was ;  then  he  remembered  the  strange 
gentleman — his  new-found  uncle — and  knew  that 
he  was  in  the  garret,  and  that  the  uncle  was 
sleeping  upon  his  (Oliver's)  bed  in  the  room  be 
low.  So  recollection  came  back  to  his  newly 
awakened  senses  by  bits  and  pieces,  but  all  the 
while  the  shrill,  penetrating  sound  rang  in  his 
ears.  It  was  like,  and  yet  it  was  unlike,  the  cry 
ing  of  a  cat.  It  was  the  same  high-pitched,  tremu- 
loits  strain,  like  the  wailing  of  an  impish  baby; 
yet  there  was  a  difference — a  subtle  difference- 
between  the  crying  of  a  cat  and  the  long-drawn, 
quavering,  unearthly  sound  that  he  heard,  voice 
less  and  inarticulate,  in  the  silent  loneliness  of 
the  midnight  and  the  bewilderment  of  his  new 
awakening— a  difference  that  set  his  limbs  to 
shaking,  and  sent  the  chills  crawling  up  and 
down  his  back  like  cold  fingers. 

The  sound  that  he  heard  neither  rose  nor  fell, 
but  continued  to  shrill  on  and  on  through  the 
silence  without,  as  though  it  would  never  come 
to  an  end.  Then  suddenly  it  ceased.  Oliver 
sat  in  darkness  upon  the  garret  floor,  with  the 
blankets  gathered  about  his  chin,  his  teeth  chat 
tering  and  rattling  and  his  limbs  shuddering, 
partly  through  nervous,  partly  through  actual 
chill.  "  Chicker,  chicker,  click !"  sounded  his  teeth 


A   MODEKN  ALADDIN.  17 

loudly  in  the  hush  of  silence  that  followed.  It 
seemed  as  though  that  silence  was  even  harder 
to  bear  than  the  sound  itself.  "  It  was  only  a 
cat,  it  was  only  a  cat,"  he  muttered  to  himself. 
Then, "The  devil!  there  it  is  again!" 

Yes,  that  same  strange  noise  was  beginning 
again ;  at  first  so  faint  that  Oliver  was  not  sure 
that  he  heard  it,  then  rising  higher  and  higher 
and  more  and  more  keen.  "It  is  only  a  cat, 
it  is  only  a  cat,"  muttered  Oliver,  faintly.  He 
felt  his  scalp  creeping. 

Again  the  noise  ceased  as  suddenly  as  before 
into  the  same  death-like  silence. 

Some  one  was  stirring  in  the  room  below ;  it 
was  the  American  uncle.  A  great  wave  of  relief 
swept  over  Oliver  to  find  that  another  besides 
himself  was  awake.  The  next  moment  he  heard 
the  window  that  looked  out  into  the  street  be 
neath  softly  and  cautiously  raised. 

Near  where  he  lay  was  an  open  unglazed  win 
dow.  It  looked  out  into  the  moonlight  just 
above  the  one  that  he  had  heard  raised  in  the 
room  below.  A  faint  thrill  of  curiosity  began 
to  stir  in  the  depth  of  the  chaos  of  his  fright. 
Strengthened  by  the  companionship  of  wake- 
fulness,  he  crept  softly  to  the  square  hole  and 
peered  fearfully  out. 

The  houses  across  the  way  stood  black  and 
2 


18  A   MODEKN   ALADDIN. 

silent  against  the  pale  moonlit  sky  behind.  The 
street  between  was  bathed  in  the  white  glamour. 
In  the  middle  of  it  and  facing  the  house  stood 
the  motionless  figure  of  a  woman  wrapped  in 
the  folds  of  a  long  black  cloak.  Just  below  Oli 
ver  was  the  window  that  he  had  heard  softly 
raised  a  moment  since,  and  out  of  it  a  head  was 
looking.  Oliver  could  only  see  the  back  of  the 
head,  but  he  knew  very  well  that  it  was  the 
American  uncle's.  He  must  have  made  some 
noise,  for  the  head  suddenly  turned  and  looked 
up.  "He  drew  back  with  a  keen  thrill,  afraid — 
but  not  knowing  why  he  was  afraid — of  being 
seen.  For  a  while  he  stood  waiting  and  listen 
ing  with  bated  breath  and  a  beating  heart,  but 
all  was  silent  below.  Then  again  he  peeped  cau 
tiously  out  over  the  window-sill;  the  head  be 
low  was  gone  now,  but  the  silent,  motionless 
figure  in  the  street  was  yet  there. 

At  that  moment  she  looked  up,  and  Oliver 
saw  her  face.  It  was  beautiful,  but  as  livid  as 
death ;  just  such  a  face  as  might  utter  the  sound 
that  had  awakened  him  to  his  blind  terror.  The 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  him,  but  not  as  though 
they  saw  him,  and  he  leaned  far  out  of  the  win 
dow,  gazing  fascinated.  Presently  the  thin  lips 
parted,  he  saw  the  white  teeth  glitter  in  the 
moonlight,  and  for  the  third  time  he  heard  that 


"  AT    THAT    MOMENT    SHE    LOOKED    UP." 


A   MODEEN   ALADDIN.  19 

quavering,  unearthly  wail  break  out  upon  the 
night. 

Suddenly  the  door  of  the  house  beneath  opened 
noiselessly,  and  tvro  figures  stepped  out  into  the 
pale  glamour.  One  was  the  American  uncle,  the 
other  was  the  clever  servant  Gaspard.  The  lat 
ter  carried  over  his  arm  something  that  looked 
like  a  long  black  cloak.  At  their  coming  the 
sound  instantly  ceased,  and  the  woman  slowly 
turned  her  white  ghostly  face  towards  them. 
The  American  uncle  strode  up  to  her  and  caught 
her  fiercely  by  the  wrist,  but  she  moved  no  more 
than  if  she  had  been  dead.  Oliver  saw  the 
American  uncle  stand  looking  this  way  and  that, 
like  one  seeking  for  some  escape ;  then  he  looked 
at  Gaspard.  The  clever  servant  was  mouthing 
and  grimacing  in  a  horrible,  grotesque  manner. 
Oliver  could  see  him  as  plain  as  day,  for  the 
white  moonlight  shone  full  in  his  lean  grisly 
face.  He  opened  what  he  carried  upon  his  arm; 
it  was  a  long,  black,  bag-like  hood. 

Once  again  the  tremulous,  wailing  cry  cut 
through  the  night,  at  first  faint,  then  rising  high 
er  and  higher  and  clearer  and  clearer.  Oliver 
saw  his  uncle  shudder.  Gaspard  grinned;  he 
crouched  together,  and  held  the  black  bag  open 
in  his  hands.  Oliver  heard  the  American  uncle 
utter  a  sharp  word  that  he  could  not  understand, 


20  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

and  saw  him  fling  the  wrist  he  held  away  from 
him. 

"What  next  passed  happened  in  an  instant. 
There  was  a  leap,  a  swift,  silent,  horrible  strug 
gle,  and  the  sound  was  stilled.  Gaspard  had 
drawn  the  black  bag  over  the  woman's  head  and 
shoulders.  Then,  without  pausing  an  instant,  he 
picked  her  up,  flung  her  limp  and  helpless  form 
over  his.  shoulder  like  a  sack  of  grain,  turned,  and 
with  noiseless  feet  ran  swiftly  down  the  street. 
Oliver  watched  him  as  he  ran  into  an  inky  shad 
ow,  flitled  across  a  patch  of  moonlight,  disap 
peared  in  a  shadow  again,  appeared,  disappeared, 
was  gone.  "  My  God !"  he  muttered  to  himself; 
"the  bridge  and  the  river  are  down  there. 
Would  he—" 

"\Yhen  he  looked  again  he  saw  that  his  uncle 
had  gone  back  into  the  house. 

For  a  long  time  the  street  below  lay  deserted 
in  the  silence  of  the  moonlight.  In  the  stillness 
Oliver  could  hear  the  far-away  sound  of  running 
water  and  the  distant  barking  of  a  dog.  He 
leaned  against  the  side  of  the  window,  watching 
with  fascinated  interest  for  the  return  of  the 
serving-man.  At  last  he  thought  that  he  saw  a 
movement  far  down  upon  the  moonlit  street.  It 
was  Gaspard  returning,  without  his  burden.  He 
appeared,  disappeared,  passed  through  the  silent 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  21 

blocks  of  shadow,  of  moonlight,  of  shadow,  with 
the  same  swift,  noiseless  steps,  until  he  reached 
the  road  in  front  of  the  house.  Then  he  stopped 
short ;  there  was  a  momentary  pause,  and  then 
he  looked  quickly  and  suddenly  up.  It  was  the 
face  of  a  grinning  devil  from  hell  that  Oliver 
saw. 

Their  glances  met;  Gaspard's  eyes  glistened 
in  the  moonlight.  That  meeting  of  glances  was 
but  for  an  instant.  The  next,  Gaspare!  clapped 
his  hands  to  the  pit  of  his  stomach,  and  bending 
over,  writhed  and  twisted  and  doubled  himself  in 
a  convulsion  of  silent,  crazy  laughter.  After  a 
while  he  straightened  himself  again,  and  as  Oli 
ver  gazed,  fascinated,  he  suddenly  began  an  un 
couth,  grotesque  dance.  Around  and  around  he 
spun,  hopping  and  bobbing  up  and  down ;  around, 
around,  with  his  black  shadow — pot-bellied,  long- 
limbed,  and  spider -like  —  hopping  beneath  him. 
So  hopping  and  bobbing,  with  wagging  head  and 
writhing,  twisting  limbs,  he  drew  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  door.  Another  leap,  and  he  had 
hopped  into  the  house,  and  the  street  was  silent 
and  deserted  once  more  in  the  white  moon 
light. 

For  a  while  Oliver  continued  leaning  out  of 
the  window,  dazed,  bewildered  with  what  he 
had  seen.  Then  he  slowly  drew  his  head  in 


22  A   MODEKN   ALADDIN. 

again,  and  with  trembling  limbs  and  quaking 
body  crawled  back  to  his  blankets  that  lay  in  a 
heap  upon  the  floor  in  the  darkness.  He  heard 
a  distant  clock  strike  two ;  he  would  have  given 
ten  years  of  his  life  for  a  ray  of  good,  honest 
sunlight. 

The  Morning. 

"Did  the  cats  annoy  you  last  night?"  said 
Oliver's  mother,  as  they  sat  at  breakfast. 

"No,"  said  the  new  uncle.  Gaspard  and  he 
looked  as  if  they  had  never  opened  their  eyes 
the  whole  night  through. 

Oliver  sat  with  the  untasted  breakfast  before 
him,  heavily  burdened  with  the  recollection  of 
what  he  had  seen.  For  one  moment  he  woke  to 
the  question  and  answer,  and  wondered  vaguely 
whether  the  little  supper  of  the  night  before  had 
given  him  the  nightmare.  Then  his  heart  sank 
back,  heavier  than  ever,  for  he  knew  that  what 
he  had  seen  he  had  seen,  with  his  waking  eyes. 

Suddenly  the  new  uncle  looked  up.  "We 
will  start  for  Paris,"  said  he,  "  at  nine  o'clock." 

Oliver's  heart  thrilled  at  the  words.  It  was 
on  his  tongue  to  say,  "I  do  not  want  to  go  to 
Paris,"  but  Gaspard's  mouse-like  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  him,  and  he  gulped,  shuddered,  and  sat 
silent. 


'HE   SUDDENLY   BEGAN    AN   UNCOUTH,   GROTESQUE 
DANCE.'1 


A    MODERN   ALADDIN.  23 


SCENE  THIRD. — Paris. 

It  was  all  like  the  hideous  unreality  of  a 
nightmare  to  poor  Oliver.  For  twelve  hours 
they  had  travelled  on  and  on  and  on,  Oliver  and 
those  two  dreadful  mysterious  beings,  with  only 
a  brief  stop  now  and  then  to  change  horses,  and 
now  and  then  for  a  bite  to  eat.  At  such  times 
that  one  whom  Oliver  afterwards  knew  as  "the 
master,"  got  out  and  walked  up  and  down,  while 
the  other  attended  to  his  duties  as  servant.  But 
Oliver  always  sat  still,  and  shrunk  together  in 
the  corner  of  the  coach,  weighed  down  with  the 
tremendous  remembrance  of  what  had  passed 
the  night  before,  and  by  no  less  looming  appre 
hensions  of  what  was  to  come.  Gaspard  always 
brought  him  something  to  eat,  but  he  had  no 
appetite  for  the  food,  and  he  shuddered  at  the 
lean,  grisly  face  whenever  it  appeared  at  the 
door  of  the  coach. 

Then  again  the  master  would  enter,  and  they 
would  resume  the  never-ending  journey.  At  last, 
overpowered  by  the  continued  intensity  of  the 
strain,  Oliver  fell  into  an  uneasy  sleep,  in  which 
all  manner  of  ugly  visions  flitted  through  his 
mind.  At  last  the  sudden  thunderous  rumbling 


24  A    MODEKN    ALADDIN. 

of  the  coach  over  stony  streets  aroused  him 
again,  and  when  he  awoke  it  was  to  find  himself 
in  Paris.  He  unclosed  his  eyes  and  looked  stoni 
ly  out  of  the  window.  He  had  fallen  asleep 
while  the  sun  was  still  quite  high  in  the  sky ; 
now  it  was  night.  The  lights  from  the  street 
lanterns  flashed  in  at  the  window,  traversed  the 
gloomy  interior  of  the  coach,  and  then  flashed 
out  again ;  a  perpetual  glare  shone  from  the  win 
dows  of  shops  and  stores ;  hundreds  of  people, 
passing  and  repassing,  came  and  went ;  but  poor 
Oliver,  bewildered  and  stupefied,  saw  and  felt  all 
as  a  part  of  those  dull,  leaden  dreams  that  had 
disturbed  him  in  his  sleep. 

Nevertheless  he  noticed  that  as  they  still  rum 
bled  on  and  on,  the  lights  grew  less  and  less  brill 
iant  and  frequent  and  that  the  travellers  grew  less 
and  less  numerous ;  that  the  streets  grew  crook- 
eder  and  narrower,  and  the  dark  and  gloomy 
houses  upon  either  hand  more  ancient  and  crazy. 

Suddenly,  in  a  space  of  darkness,  a  hand  was 
laid  upon  his  knee,  and  a  voice  spoke  his  name— 
"  Oliver !"  He  started  wide  awake,  and  a  keen, 
sharp  pang  shot  through  him.  Just  then  they 
again  passed  a  lantern,  and  as  the  light  traversed 
the  interior  of  the  great  coach  it  flashed  across 
the  face  of  his  companion  thrust  close  to  his 
own.  The  cloak  which  he  had  wrapped  around 


A   MODEKN    ALADDIN.  25 

him  after  nightfall  had  fallen  away,  his  eyes 
shone  with  a  strange  light,  and  his  lips  were 
parted  with  a  strange  smile.  "  Were  you  fright 
ened  at  what  you  saw  last  night  f  he  said. 

Oliver  felt  as  though  a  thunder-bolt  had  fall 
en.  Twice  or  thrice  he  strove  to  speak,  but  his 
tongue  clave  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth,  and  re 
fused  to  utter  a  sound  ;  he  could  only  nod  his 
head.  The  very  worst  thing  that  he  feared  had 
happened  to  him.  He  was  so  frightened  that 
it  gave  him  the  stomachache.  What  was  to 
befall  him  next  ?  It  was  through  a  veil  of  dizzy 
terror  that  he  looked  into  that  face  shut  up  with 
him  in  the  narrow  confines  of  the  coach.  All 
had  become  darkness  again ;  but  in  the  hum 
ming  silence  the  eyeballs  of  his  soul  still  saw 
that  strangely  smiling  face  as  the  eyes  of  his 
body  had  seen  it  when  the  lantern  light  flashed 
upon  it.  He  crouched  in  his  corner,  shrunk  to 
gether  like  a  rabbit  before  the  face  of  a  serpent. 
Again  there  came  another  traversing  flash  of 
light,  and  then  he  saw  that  the  face  had  widened 
to  a  grin. 

"  And  you  know  that  I  am  not  your  rich  uncle 
from  the  Americas?" 

Oliver  nodded  his  head  once  more. 

The  other  began  laughing.  "  Come,"  said  he ; 
"  you  are  frightened.  But  I  am  not  so  bad  as 


26  A   MODERN  ALADDIN. 

you  take  me  to  be,  or  Gaspard  either,  for  the 
matter  of  that,  though  he  has  strange  habits. 
Also  you  saw  what  he  did  last  night  ?" 

For  the  third  time  Oliver  nodded  his  head. 
His  throat  grew  tighter  and  tighter,  and  he  felt 
as  though  he  would  choke. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  other.  «  Then  you  un 
derstand  that  Gaspard  and  I  are  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  We  are  now  at  the  end  of  our  journey, 
and  there  Is  something  that  I  would  have  you 
do  for  me.  ^  It  was  for  that  that  I  hunted  you 
up  at  Flourens,  and  it  was  for  that  that  I  brought 
you  here  to  Paris.  If  you  do  my  bidding,  no 
harm  shall  happen  to  you ;  if  not—"  The  hand 
which  rested  upon  Oliver's  knee  gripped  it  like 
the  clutch  of  a  hawk.  "  Do  you  understand  ?" 

"  Yes,"  croaked  Oliver,  finding  his  voice  at  last. 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  other.  "  Now  when  we 
stop  I  shall  get  out  first  of  all,  then  you.  then  Gas 
pard.  He  will  follow  close  behind  us,  and  if  you 

make  so  much  -as  one  noise,  one  little  outcrv " 

The  speaker  stopped  abruptly.  They  were  now 
in  the  black  gloom  of  a  crooked,  unlighted  street, 
with  high  walls  beetling  upon  either  side,  but 
even  in  the  blackness  of  the  gloom  Oliver  could 
feel  that  the  other  made  a  motion  with  his  hands 
as  though  drawing  a  sack  or  bag  over  his  head, 
and  he  shrank  together  closer  than  ever. 


A   MODEEN   ALADDIN.  27 

Then  suddenly  the  coach  stopped.  The  next 
moment  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  there  stood 
Gaspard  waiting.  Oliver's  companion  stepped 
out  upon  the  pavement.  "  Come,"  said  he,  and 
there  was  that  in  his  voice  that  told  Oliver  that 
there  was  but  one  thing  to  do — to  obey.  The 
poor  lad's  legs  and  arms  moved  with  a  jerky, 
spasmodic  movement,  as  though  they  did  not  be 
long  to  him,  and  Gaspard  had  to  help  him  out 
of  the  coach,  or  else  he  would  have  fallen  upon 
the  pavement. 

"  That  is  good,"  said  his  travelling  companion 
when  he  at  last  stood  upon  the  sidewalk.  "  Our 
legs  are  cramped  by  sitting  so  long,  but  we  will 
be  better  by  the  time  we  have  walked  a  little 
distance ;"  and  he  slipped  his  hand  under  Oliver's 
arm. 

Oliver  groaned. 

The  moon  had  now  risen,  and  though  it  did 
not  reach  the  pavement,  the  still  pallid  light 
bathed  the  upper  stories  of  the  houses  upon  the 
other  side  of  the  street  above  the  sharp  black 
demarcation  of  the  lower  shadows.  They  passed 
two  or  three  strange  spirit  -  like  shapes,  ragged 
and  wretched ;  but  soon  leaving  even  these  be 
hind,  and  turning  down  a  sudden  crooked  way, 
they  came  to  a  dark,  lonely,  narrow  court,  utter 
ly  deserted,  and  silent  as  death.  At  the  farther 


28  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

side  of  this  court  was  a  brick  wall,  black  with 
moss  and  mildew.  Upon  this  wall  the  pallid 
moonlight  lay  full  and  bright,  showing  a  little 
arched  door-way  that  seemed  to  lead  through  it 
to,  perhaps,  a  garden  upon  the  other  side.  Here 
they  stopped,  and  Gaspard,  stepping  forward, 
drew  from  his  pocket  two  rusty  keys  tied  to 
gether  by  a  piece  of  twisted  parchment.  He 
chose  one  of  the  keys,  and  thrust  it  into  the  lock 
of  the  gate.  The  lock  was  old  and  rusty.  Gas 
pard  twisted  at  the  key  until  his  bony  fingers 
were  livid,  then  with  a  grating  noise  the  key 
slowly  turned  in  the  rusty  lock.  The  gate  opened 
— not  into  the  garden,  as  Oliver  had  expected  to 
see,  but  into  the  inky  darkness  of  the  passage 
way  built  into  the  wall. 

"Come,  my  child,"  said  Oliver's  companion. 
"  Come  with  me,  and  Gaspard  will  follow  behind 
and  close  the  gate." 

Oliver  looked  about  him  with  helplessly  de 
spairing  eyes.  Not  a  soul  was  in  sight  but  the 
two.  There  was  no  help,  no  hope ;  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  to  follow.  He  stepped  into 
the  passage-way  after  the  other.  The  next  mo 
ment  Gaspard  closed  the  gate,  and  he  found  him 
self  in  inky  blackness. 

"  Take  my  hand  and  follow,"  said  he  who 
led;  and  his  voice  echoed  and  reverberated  up 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  29 

and  down  the  hollow  darkness.  Oliver  reached 
blindly  out  until  he  touched  the  unseen  hand. 

With  shuffling  feet  they  moved  slowly  along 
the  passage-way  for  the  distance  of  twenty  or 
thirty  paces,  the  American  uncle  leading  the 
way  and  holding  Oliver  by  the  hand,  and  Gas- 
pard  following  so  close  behind  them  that  some 
times  it  seemed  to  Oliver  that  he  could  feel  the 
other's  hot  breath  blowing  upon  his  neck.  Sud 
denly  Oliver's  guide  stopped  for  a  moment,  and 
Oliver  could  hear  him  feeling  with  his  feet  upon 
the  floor  in  front  of  him.  Then  again  his  echo 
ing  voice  sounded,  reverberating  through  the 
darkness.  "  Take  care  of  the  steps,"  said  he, 
"  for  they  are  narrow  and  slippery." 

In  answer  Oliver  felt  out  instinctively  with  his 
foot.  His  toe  touched  the  edge  of  a  step,  the 
first  of  a  flight  that  led  steeply  downward  into 
the  darkness. 

Down,  down  they  went,  Oliver  in  the  middle 
and  the  other  behind. 

"  We  are  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps,"  said  the 
echoing  voice  in  front  of  Oliver,  and  the  next  in 
stant  he  felt  the  startling  jar  of  missing  a  step. 
Although  the  blackness  was  impenetrable,  it 
seemed  to  Oliver  that  they  had  now  reached  a 
large  room,  for  their  footsteps  echoed  with  a 
hollow  sound,  as  though  from  high  walls  and 


30  A   MODERN    ALADDIN. 

a  vaulted  roof.  His  guide  laid  a  band  upon  his 
arm,  and  at  the  signal  he  stopped.  Presently  he 
heard  Gaspard  fumbling  and  rustling,  and  the 
next  momenta  shower  of  sparks  were  struck  with 
flint  and  steel.  As  the  tinder  blazed  under  his 
breathing,  Oliver  saw  that  Gaspard  leaned  over 
a  small  brazen  vase  that  sat  upon  the  ground. 
He  lighted  a  match  and  dropped  it  into  the  vase, 
and  instantly  a  vivid  greenish  light  blazed  up, 
dancing  now  higher,  now  lower,  and  lighting  up 
all  the  surrounding  space.  Then  Oliver  saw  that 
he  was  indeed  in  a  high,  vaulted,  cellar-like  apart 
ment,  without  window  or  other  entrance  than 
that  through  which  they  had  come.  In  the  cen 
tre  of  this  vaulted  space,  and  not  far  from  where 
they  stood,  was  a  trap-door  of  iron,  to  which  was 
attached  an  iron  ring ;  a  wide,  heavy  iron  bar, 
fastened  to  the  floor  at  one  end  by  a  hinge  and 
at  the  other  by  a  staple  and  padlock,  crossed  the 
iron  plate,  and  locked  it  to  the  floor.  Again 
Gaspard  drew  out  the  two  keys,  and  fitting  the 
second  into  the  padlock,  gave  it  a  turn.  The 
padlock  gaped.  He  loosed  it  from  the  staple, 
and  swung  back  the  iron  bar,  creaking  and  grat 
ing  upon  its  rusty  hinge;  then,  clutching  the 
ring  in  the  lid  of  the  trap,  he  bent  his  back  and 
heaved.  The  iron  plate  swung  slowly  and  heavily 
up,  and  as  Oliver  looked  down,  he  saw  a  glim- 


1IE    LIGHTED    A    MATCH    AND    DKOPPED    IT    INTO    THE 
VASE." 


A  MODERN  ALADDIN.  31 

mering  flight  of  stone  steps  that  led  into  the 
yawning  blackness  beneath. 

Gaspard  reached  down  into  the  square  hole, 
and  after  fumbling  around  for  a  moment,  drew 
forth  an  ancient  rusty  lantern  with  the  end  of  a 
half-burnt  candle  still  in  it,  which  he  proceeded 
to  light. 

Then  he  who  was  the  master  spoke  again. 
"  Oliver,  my  child,"  said  he,  smoothly, "  down  be 
low  there  are  three  rooms ;  in  the  farthermost 
room  of  the  three  is  a  small  stone  pillar,  and  on 
it  are  two  bottles  of  water.  Bring  them  up  here 
to  me,  and  I  will  make  you  so  rich  that  you  shall 
never  want  for  anything  more  in  this  world." 

"Am  I — am  I  to  go  down  there  alone?"  said 
Oliver,  hoarsely. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  "  alone ;  but  we,  Gas 
pard  and  I,  will  wait  here  for  you." 

"And  what  then?" 

"  Then  I  will  make  you  rich." 

Oliver  looked  into  the  face  of  the  other.  In 
its  cold  depth  he  saw  something  that  chilled  his 
heart  to  the  very  centre.  He  turned,  and,  lean 
ing  forward,  gazed  stupidly  down  into  the  gaping 
hole  at  his  feet ;  then  he  drew  back.  "  My  God !" 
he  said,  "  I — cannot  go — down  there  alone." 

"  But  you  must  go,"  said  the  other. 

"  I — I  cannot  go  alone,"  said  Oliver  again. 


32  A   MODERN  ALADDIN. 

The  other  turned  his  head.  "  Gaspard !"  said 
he.  That  was  all ;  but  the  perfect  servant  un 
derstood.  He  stepped  forward  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  Oliver's  wrist,  and  his  fingers  were  like 
steel  wires. 

Oliver  looked  into  his  face  with  wide  eyes.  He 
saw  there  that  which  he  had  seen  the  night  be 
fore.  "  I — will — go,"  said  he,  in  a  choking  voice. 

He  reached  out  blindly  a  hand  as  cold  as  death, 
and  trembling  as  with  a  palsy.  One  of  the  oth 
ers,  he  knew  not  which,  thrust  the  lantern  into 
it.  Then  he  turned  mechanically,  and,  automa 
ton-like,  began  descending  the  narrow  steps. 
There  were  ten  or  a  dozen  of  them,  leading 
steeply  downward,  and  at  the  bottom  was  a 
small  vestibule  a  few  feet  square.  Oliver  looked 
back,  and  saw  the  two  faces  peering  down  at 
him  through  the  square  opening  above ;  then  he 
turned  again.  In  front  of  him  was  an  arched 
door-way  like  that  through  which  he  had  first 
come.  On  the  wall  around  the  door-way  and 
on  the  floor  was  painted  a  broad,  blood-red,  un 
broken  line,  with  this  figure  marked  at  intervals 
upon  it : 


f 


The  door  was  opened  a  crack.     Oliver  reached 
out  and  pushed  it,  and  then  noiselessly,  even  in 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  33 

that  dead  silence,  it  swung  slowly  open  upon  the 
darkness  within. 


SCENE  FOURTH. — The  three  mysterious  rooms. 

Oliver  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  entered 
the  cavernous  blackness  beyond.  There  he  stop 
ped  again,  and  stood  looking  about  him  by  the 
dusky  glimmer  of  the  lantern,  which  threw  round 
swaying  patches  of  light  upon  the  floor  and  on 
the  ceiling  above,  and  three  large  squares  of  yel 
low  light  upon  the  walls  around. 

Oliver  wondered  dully  whether  he  was  in  a 
dream,  for  such  a  place  he  had  never  beheld  be 
fore  in  all  his  life.  Upon  the  floor  lay  soft, 
heavy  rugs  and  carpets,  blackened  and  mildewed 
with  age,  but  still  showing  here  and  there  gor 
geous  patches  of  coloring.  Upon  the  wall  hung 
faded  tapestry  and  silken  hangings  draped  in 
dark,  motionless,  mysterious  folds.  Around  stood 
divans  and  couches  covered  with  soft  and  lux 
urious  cushions  embroidered  with  silk  long  since 
faded,  and  silver  thread  long  since  tarnished  to 
an  inky  blackness. 

In  the  middle  of  the  room  stood  an  ebony  ta 
ble  inlaid  with  ivory  and  mother-of-pearl ;  above 
it  hung  a  lamp  inlaid  with  gold  and  swung  from 


34:  A  MODERN   ALADDIN. 

the  arched  stone  ceiling  above  by  three  golden 
chains.  Beside  the  table  stood  a  chair  of  some 
dark  red  wood,  richly  inlaid  like  the  table,  with 
ivory  and  mother  -  of  -  pearl,  and  by  the  chair 
leaned  a  lute  ready  strung,  as  though  just  laid 
aside  by  the  performer,  though  the  strings,  long 
untouched,  were  thick  and  fuzzy  with  green  mil 
dew.  Upon  the  chair  was  a  tasselled  cushion, 
one  time  rich  and  ornate,  now  covered  with  great 
blotches  of  decay.  Upon  the  table  were  two 
golden  trays  —  one  of  them  containing  a  small 
mass  of  mildew  that  might  at  one  time  have 
been  fruit  or  confections  of  some  sort ;  the  other, 
an  empty  glass  vase  or  decanter  as  clear  as  crys 
tal,  but  stained  with  the  dry  dregs  of  wine,  and 
two  long  crystal  glasses,  one  of  them  overset 
and  with  the  stem  broken.  In  a  dim  distant  cor 
ner  of  this  one  -  time  magnificent  room  stood  a 
draped  couch  or  bed,  with  heavy  hangings  tat 
tered  and  stained  with  rot,  the  once  white  linen 
mildewed  and  smeared  with  age. 

All  these  things  Oliver  saw  as  he  stood  in  the 
door- way  looking  slowly  and  breathlessly  around 
him ;  then,  of  a  sudden,  his  heart  tightened  and 
shrunk  together,  the  lantern  in  his  hand  trem 
bled  and  swayed,  for  upon  the  bed,  silent  and 
motionless,  he  saw  the  dim,  dark  outline  of  a 
woman's  figure  lying  still  and  silent. 


A   MODEEX   ALADDIN.  35 

"Who  —  who  is  there?"  he  quavered,  tremu 
lously  ;  but  no  answering  voice  broke  the  silence. 

As  he  stood  there,  with  his  heart  beating  and 
thumping  in  his  throat,  with  beads  of  cold  sweat 
standing  on  his  forehead,  and  now  and  then  swal 
lowing  at  the  dry  ness  in  his  throat,  a  fragment 
of  the  hangings  above  the  bed,  loosened  perhaps 
by  the  breath  of  air  that  had  come  in  through 
the  open  door  behind,  broke  from  its  rotten 
threads,  and  dropped  silent  and  bat-like  to  the 
floor.  Oliver  winked  rapidly  in  the  intensity  of 
high-keyed  nervous  strain.  How  long  he  stood 
there  he  could  never  tell,  but  suddenly  the  voice 
of  the  master  breathed  through  the  stillness  be 
hind  him  and  from  above :  "  Hast  thou  found 
the  bottles  of  water  ?" 

Oliver  started,  and  then,  with  the  same  jerky 
automaton-like  steps  with  which  he  had  descended 
the  stone  stair-way  from  above,  he  began  crossing 
the  room  to  the  arrased  door- way  which  he  dimly 
distinguished  upon  the  other  side  of  the  apartment. 

Midway  he  stopped,  and,  turning  his  head, 
looked  again  at  the  silent  figure  lying  upon  the 
bed.  He  was  nearer  to  it  now,  and  could  see  it 
more  clearly  in  the  dim  yellow  light  of  the  lan 
tern.  The  face  was  hidden,  but  the  floating, 
wavy  hair,  loosened  from  a  golden  band  which 
glimmered  faintly  in  the  raven  blackness,  lay 


36  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

spread  in  shadow -like  masses  over  the  stained 
and  faded  surface  of  the  silken  pillow  upon  which 
the  head  lay. 

Impelled  by  a  sudden  impulse  of  a  grotesque 
curiosity,  Oliver,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
crept  slowly  and  steathily  towards  that  silent 
occupant  of  the  silent  room,  holding  his  lantern 
forward  at  arm's-length  before  him. 

As  the  advancing  light  crept  slowly  around 
the  figure,  Oliver  saw  first  one  thing  and  then 
another.  First,  the  quaint  and  curious  costume  of 
a  kind  of  which  ne  had  never  seen  before,  woven 
of  rich  and  heavy  silk,  and  rendered  still  more 
stiff  by  the  seed-pearls  with  which  it  was  em 
broidered.  Then  the  neck  and  breast,  covered  by 
the  folds  of  a  faded  silken  scarf.  Then,  as  the 
light  crept  still  farther  around  the  figure,  he  saw 
it  twinkle  upon  a  gold  and  jewelled  object. 

Oliver  knew  very  well  what  it  was,  and  his 
knees  smote  together  when  he  saw  it.  It  was 
the  haft  of  a  dagger,  and  the  blade  was  driven 
up  to  the  guard  into  the  silent  bosom.  He  raised 
the  lantern  still  farther,  and  the  light  shone  full 
in  the  face.  Oliver  gave  a  piping  cry,  and,  stum 
bling  backward,  nearly  let  fall  the  lantern  upon 
the  floor.  He  had  seen  the  face  of  a  grinning 
skull  gazing  with  hollow,  sightless  sockets,  into 
his  own  eyes. 


OLIVKR    GAVE    A    PIPING    CRY. 


A  MODEBN   ALADDIN.  37 

For  a  while  Oliver  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  staring  with  blank,  stony  horror  at  the 
silent  figure.  Then  for  a  second  time  the  voice 
of  the  watcher  above  breathed  through  the  si 
lence — "  Have  you  found  the  water  yet  ?" 

Oliver  turned  stupidly,  and  with  dull,  heavy 
steps  passed  through  the  door- way  into  the  room 
beyond,  holding  the  lantern  before  him. 

Here,  again,  were  the  same  rotting,  mildewed 
richness  and  profusion,  but  they  were  of  a  differ 
ent  character.  A  long  table  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  covered  with  the  remnant  of  what  had 
once  been  a  white  linen  table-cloth,  and  set  with 
blackened  and  tarnished  plates  and  dishes,  and 
dust-covered  goblets,  and  beakers  of  ancient  cut 
and  crystal -like  glass,  showed  that  it  was  a  din 
ing  apartment  into  which  he  had  now  come. 
Two  richly -carved  chairs,  with  their  indented 
cushions,  were  pushed  back  as  though  their  occu 
pant  had  but  just  now  quitted  them. 

Oliver  felt  a  wave  of  relief ;  here  was  no  si 
lent  figure  to  frighten  him  with  its  ghostly, 
voiceless  presence. 

Upon  the  other  side  of  this  room  was  anoth 
er  tapestried  door-way  similiar  to  that  through 
which  he  had  just  entered.  Passing  through  it, 
he  found  himself  in  a  low,  narrow  passage,  barred 
at  the  farther  end  by  a  heavy  iron-bound  door, 


38  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

worm-eaten  and  red  with  the  stain  of  rust,  and 
with  great  wrought -iron  hinges  spreading  out 
upon  its  surface  like  twisted  fingers.  Oliver 
pressed  his  foot  against  it.  It  was  not  locked, 
and  it  swung  slowly  and  stiffly  open  with  a  dull 
groaning  of  the  rusty  hinges.  Within  was  a 
stone-paved  apartment,  very  different  from  those 
which  he  had  just  left. 

All  around  were  scattered  quaint  and  curious 
jars  and  retorts  of  coarse  glass  and  metal.  Rows 
of  bottles  of  different  shapes  and  sizes  stood  upon 
the  shelves,  and  fn  the  corner  was  a  great  heap 
of  mouldering,  dusty  books,  huge  of  size,  and  fast 
ened  with  metal  clasps.  Built  into  the  middle 
of  the  farther  wall  was  a  wide  brick  chimney- 
place,  black  with  ancient  soot,  wherein  were  sev 
eral  furnaces  of  different  sizes,  all  long  since  cold, 
and  with  the  sparks  of  fiery  life  dead  in  their 
bosoms.  Nevertheless,  everything  had  been  left 
as  though  the  room  had  been  newly  deserted. 
One  pot  -  bellied  retort  reclined  tipsily  upon  its 
bed  of  cold  gray  ashes ;  a  mortar  stood  upon  the 
hob  of  another  furnace  with  the  pestle  in  it ;  a 
book,  held  open  by  a  glass  rod  across  the  pages, 
lay  near  by,  as  though  for  reference. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  stood  a  square  pillar 
or  table  of  stone,  and  upon  it  were  two  bottles 
containing  a  clear,  limpid  liquid,  in  appearance 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  39 

like  distilled  water.  Each  was  stoppered  with 
glass,  and  sealed  besides  with  a  great  mass  of 
blood-red  wax.  Upon  each  of  the  bottles  was 
pasted  a  square  parchment  label.  One  was 

marked  in  red  pigment. thus —  J^j  The 

other  was  marked  thus — (~/\  in  L^LI  black. 

Oliver  knew  that  these  ' '  were  the  bottles  for 

which  he  had  been  sent. 

He  hesitated  a  moment;  then,  reaching  forth 
his  hand,  he  took  first  one  and  then  the  other, 
and  thrust  them  into  his  pocket. 

He  had  reached  the  ending  of  his  task. 

Then  of  a  sudden  it  was  as  though  a  wave  of 
renewed  life  swept  over  him. 

He  thought  nothing  of  the  greater  dangers 
that  must  still  await  him  above,  at  the  mouth  of 
the  trap,  though  he  had  there  read  death  in  the 
master's  eyes.  He  was  unreasonably,  unthink 
ingly  elated ;  it  was  as  though  he  had  reached 
the  ending  of  a  long  nightmare  journey,  and  as 
though  his  face  was  turned  towards  the  light 
again.  It  was  with  firmer  and  less  fearful  steps 
that  he  retraced  his  way  through  the  dining-room 
and  the  room  beyond,  where  lay  that  silent,  gris 
ly  sleeper,  and  so  came  to  the  door- way  with  the 
blood-red  line  drawn  around  it. 

Then  he  stopped  and  looked  up. 

At  the  square  mouth  of  the  shaft  he  saw  the 


40  A  MODEKN   ALADDIN. 

two  faces  still  peering  down  at  him,  the  face  of 
Gaspard  and  the  face  of  the  master  side  by  side. 

Again,  and  for  the  third  time,  the  master  asked 
him  the  question,  "  Have  you  found  the  bottles 
of  water?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Oliver,  "  I  have  found  them." 

"Then  give  them  to  me,"  said  the  other,  in  a 
ringing  voice,  and  he  reached  his  arm  down  tow 
ards  Oliver  where  he  still  stood  in  the  door- way, 
around  which  was  drawn  the  blood-red  line. 

In  the  reaction  from  the  prostration  of  fear 
which  had  been  upon  Oliver  for  all  this  time, 
in  the  new  elation  which  possessed  him,  it  was  as 
though  he  had  come  up  from  out  of  the  dark 
waters  which  had  overwhelmed  him,  and  stood 
again  upon  the  firm  ground  of  courage. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  very  good,  my  dear  Ameri 
can  uncle,  but  wait  a  little ;  what  then  is  to 
come  of  me  if  I  give  you  these  two  bottles  of 
water?" 

The  other  drew  back  his  hand.  "  Did  I  not 
promise,"  said  he,  "  to  make  you  rich  for  as  long 
as  you  lived  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Oliver,  "you  did,  but  I  do  not  be 
lieve  you.  Suppose  that  I  give  you  these  two 
bottles,  how  do  I  then  know  that  you  will  not 
bang  down  that  trap  upon  me,  and  lock  me  in 
here  to  die  alone  in  a  day  or  two  ?" 


A  MODERN   ALADDIN.  41 

• 

"Then  come  up  here," said  the  other, "if  you 
are  afraid." 

"  Yes,"  said  Oliver ;  "  but  last  night  I  saw  some 
thing —  He  stopped  short,  for  the  recollection 
of  it  stuck  in  his  throat.  "  Suppose  you  should 
hand  me  over  to  Gaspard  and  his  black  bag;" 
and  he  shuddered  with  a  sudden  creep  at  the 
thought  of  it. 

The  master's  face  grew  as  black  as  thunder, 
and  his  eyes  shone  blue  in  the  light  of  the  lan 
tern.  "  Peste !"  he  cried,  stamping  his  foot  upon 
the  stone  pavement.  "  Do  you  chaifer  with  me  ? 
Will  you  give  me  the  water,  or  will  you  not  ?" 

"  No,"  cried  Oliver ;  "  not  until  you  promise  to 
let  me  go  safe  back  home." 

"  You  will  not  give  the  bottles  to  me  ?" 

"No!" 

There  was  a  pause  for  a  moment,  but  only  for 
a  moment.  Then  there  was  a  snarl  like  the  snarl 
of  a  wild  beast — "Gaspard!"  cried  the  master. 
As  he  cried  he  leaped  forward  and  down,  two 
steps  at  a  time,  with  the  servant  at  his  heels. 

Oliver  ran  back  into  the  room,  yelling,  stum 
bled  over  the  corner  of  a  rug,  dropped  the  lan 
tern,  and  fell  flat  upon  the  floor,  where  he  lay, 
with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  screaming  with 
terror.  In  his  ears  rang  a  confused  noise  of 
snarls  and  cries  and  oaths  and  scuffling  feet,  but 


A    MODEKN   ALADDIX. 


no  hand  was  laid  upon  him.  Moment  after  mo 
ment  passed.  Oliver  raised  his  face  from  his 
hands,  and  looked  fearfully  over  his  shoulder. 

At  the  open  door-way  stood  Gaspard  and  his 
master,  with  white  faces  and  gleaming  teeth, 
dancing  and  hopping  up  and  down,  tossing  their 
hooked,  claw-like  hands  in  the  air,  foaming  with 
rage,  snarling  and  gnashing  like  wolves.  The 
lantern  which  Oliver  had  dropped  still  burned 
with  a  sickly,  flickering  gleam,  for  the  candle  had 
not  gone  out,  and  it  was  partly  by  the  light  of  it 
that  he  beheld  them. 

Then,  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  he  saw  it  all : 
they  could  not  cross  that  red  line  drawn  across  the 
door-way. 

Oliver's  courage  came  back  to  him  with  a 
bound.  He  sat  up  and  looked  at  them  struggling 
and  striving  to  get  at  him,  and  kept  back  as  by 
an  unseen  wall  of  adamant.  Instinctively  he 
reached  out  and  raised  the  overturned  lantern, 
for  the  light  was  on  the  verge  of  flickering  out. 

"  Promise  me  that  I  shall  reach  home  safe  and 
sound,"  said  he,  "  and  you  shall  yet  have  the  two 
bottles." 

The  master  did  not  seem  to  hear  him.  Oliver 
repeated  the  words.  Then  suddenly  the  other 
ceased  from  the  violence  of  his  gestures  and  ex 
clamations,  shook  himself,  and  stood  erect,  pulled 


"AT   THE    OPEN    DOOR-WAY    STOOD    GASPARD    AND    HIS   MASTER." 


A   MODEKN   ALADDIN.  43 

down  his  lace  cuffs,  and  wiped  his  face  with  his 
cambric  handkerchief.  Then  he  fixed  upon  Oli 
ver  a  basilisk  glance,  and  smiled  a  dreadful  smile. 

"  Gaspard,"  said  he,  "  let  us  go." 

He  turned  and  walked  up  the  stone  steps  again, 
closely  followed  by  his  servant,  and  poor  Oliver 
sat  staring  stonily  after  them. 

Above,  the  master  gave  an  order.  Oliver  heard 
a  grating,  grinding  noise.  There  was  a  crash 
that  echoed  clamorously  through  the  stillness,  a 
clanking  rattle,  a  grating  screech,  a  click,  and 
then  the  silence  of  death. 

Gaspard  had  shut  and  locked  the  trap -door 
above. 

Oliver  sat  dazed  and  bewildered  by  the  sud 
denness  of  what  had  happened.  Presently  he 
turned  his  head  mechanically  and  looked  around, 
and  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  silent  occupant  of  the 
bed. 

Then  he  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  up  the  steep 
flight  of  stone  steps  like  a  madman.  He  dashed 
his  fist  against  the  cold  iron  lid  above  his  head. 
"  Open,"  he  shouted — "  open  and  let  me  out. 
Let  me  out  and  you  shall  have  everything.  Here 
are  the  bottles  of  water.  Do  you  not  Avant 
them  ?" 

He  stopped  short  and  listened,  crouching  upon 
the  upper  step,  close  against  the  iron  lid  above 


44  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

him.  He  fancied  he  heard  a  faint  sound  of  foot 
steps. 

"  Let  me  out  F'  he  screamed  again. 

Nothing  but  dead,  solemn  silence. 

Oliver  ran  down  the  steps  again,  the  accursed 
glass  bottles  clicking  together  in  his  pocket.  In 
the  narrow  vestibule  below  he  stood  for  a  mo 
ment,  gazing  down  upon  the  floor  in  the  utter 
abandonment  of  blank  despair.  At  last  he  looked 
up,  and  then  crawled  fearfully  forward  into  the 
room  beyond,  lit  by  the  faint  glow  of  the  lantern. 
He  sat  him  down  upon  the  floor,  and  burst  out 
crying.  By-and-by  a  blind  rage  filled  his  heart 
against  the  cruelty  of  his  fate  and  against  the 
man  who  had  brought  it  all  upon  him.  He 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and  began  striding  up  and 
down  the  room,  muttering  to  himself  and  shak 
ing  his  head.  Presently  he  stopped,  raised  his 
clinched  fists  in  the  air  and  shook  them.  Then 
he  broke  into  a  laugh.  "Very  well,"  said 
he;  "but  you  have  not  got  the  bottles  of  wa 
ter!"  and  he  felt  his  pockets;  they  were  still 
there. 

Then,  as  he  stood  there  feeling  the  bottles  in 
his  pocket,  the  last  misfortune  of  all  happened  to 
him.  There  was  a  flare,  a  sputter,  and  then — 
utter  darkness. 

The  light  in  the  lantern  had  gone  out. 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  45 


SCENE  FIFTH. — The  same. 

Oliver  stood  for  a  while  utterly  stupefied  by 
this  new  blow  that  had  fallen  upon  him ;  then, 
with  his  hands  stretched  out  in  the  darkness 
and  feeling  before  him  with  his  feet,  he  moved 
blindly  forward.  At  last  he  found  the  lantern 
where  it  stood  upon  the  floor,  and  kneeling 
down  he  raised  the  lid  and  felt  within.  Even  if 
he  had  found  a  candle,  it  would  have  been  of  no 
use  to  him,  for  he  could  not  have  lighted  it,  but 
nothing  was  there  but  the  hot,  melted  grease  in 
which  the  wick  had  expired. 

Oliver  sat  down  upon  the  floor  and  hid  his  face 
upon  his  knees.  How  long  he  sat  there  he  never 
could  tell ;  it  might  have  been  seconds,  it  might 
have  been  minutes,  it  might  have  been  an  hour ; 
for,  like  one  in  a  broken  sleep,  there  was  to  him 
no  measurement  of  time. 

Suddenly  a  thought  flashed  upon  him,  like 
light  in  the  darkness :  he  remembered  the  chim 
ney  in  the  room  beyond.  Why  should  he  not  es 
cape  in  that  way  ?  At  the  thought  a  great  tor 
rent  of  hope  swept  upon  him ;  his  heart  swelled 
as  though  it  would  burst.  He  rose  to  his  feet, 
and  feeling  blindly  in  the  blackness,  came  first  to 


46  A    MODEKN   ALADDIN. 

the  table,  and  then  to  the  tapestried  wall  beyond. 
Inch  by  inch,  and  foot  by  foot  he  felt  his  way 
along  it,  now  stumbling  over  a  cushioned  couch 
in  the  darkness,  and  now  over  the  edge  of  one  of 
the  rugs.  So  at  last  he  came  to  the  corner  of  the 
room.  Thence  with  out-stretched  fingers  he  felt 
his  way  along  over  the  silent  folds  of  the  hang 
ings  until  he  met  the  emptiness  of  the  door-way. 

In  the  same  manner  he  crept  along  the  wall 
of  the  room  beyond,  overturning  in  his  passage 
a  light  table  laden  with  plates  and  glasses,  that 
fell  with  a  deafening  crash  and  tinkle  of  broken 
glass.  Oliver  paused  for  a  moment  in  the  be 
wilderment  of  the  sudden  noise,  and  then  began 
his  slow  onward  way  again. 

Thus  crawling  slowly  along,  and  guiding  him 
self  by  the  walls,  he  came  out  through  the  pass 
age-way  beyond  the  dining  apartment,  and  so  into 
the  laboratory.  Here  he  had  no  difficulty  in 
finding  the  chimney,  for  the  moonlight  shed  a 
faint,  ghostly  light  down  the  broad  flue  above, 
glimmering  in  a  pale  flickering  sheen  upon  the 
bottles  and  glass  retorts  that  stood  around. 

Creeping  cautiously  forward,  Oliver  came  to 
the  chimney-place,  climbed  upon  one  of  the  fur 
naces,  and  peered  upward.  Not  twenty  feet 
above  he  could  see  the  silvery  moonlit  sky. 
Then  his  heart  sank  within  him  like  a  plummet 


'CREEPING   CAUTIOUSLY    FORWARD,   OLIVER    CAME    TO    THE 
CHIMNEY-PIECE." 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  47 

of  lead.  For  just  over  his  head  were  grated  bars 
of  iron,  thick  and  ponderous,  that,  crossing  the 
chimney  from  side  to  side,  were  built  into  the 
solid  brick  and  stone  masonry  of  the  flue.  Oli 
ver  clambered  down  out  of  the  furnace  again, 
and  sat  him  down  upon  the  edge  of  it.  There 
for  a  time  he  perched,  staring  despairingly  into 
the  darkness  beyond.  "  What  shall  I  do  next  ?" 
he  muttered  to  himself — "  what  shall  I  do  next  ?" 

It  could  serve  no  use  for  him  to  stay  where  he 
was,  among  the  crucibles  and  retorts ;  he  might 
as  well  go  into  one  of  the  other  rooms.  There,  at 
least,  would  be  a  comfortable  place  to  rest  himself, 
and  he  began  to  feel  heavily  and  stupidly  sleepy. 

Foot  by  foot  and  step  by  step  he  felt  his  way 
back  again  into  the  farthest  room.  He  gave  no 
thought  to  that  other  occupant,  hushed  in  the  si 
lent  sleep  of  death;  but  flinging  himself  down 
upon  the  first  couch  that  he  found,  gathered  the 
musty,  mildewed  cushions  under  his  head,  closed 
his  eyes,  and  sunk  heavily  into  the  depths  of  a 
dark,  dreamless  sleep. 

How  long  Oliver  Munier  lay  in  the  blankness 
of  this  heavy  sleep  he  could  never  know.  It 
must  have  been  for  a  great  while,  as  he  afterwards 
discovered.  His  waking  was  sudden  and  sharp, 
and  even  before  he  was  fairly  awake  he  knew 
that  he  heard  a  sound. 


48  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

He  opened  his  eyes  wide  and  listened.  There 
was  a  soft  rustling,  a  velvety  footfall,  and  the 
sound  of  quick,  short  breathing,  in  the  silent  dark 
ness,  like  that  of  a  little  child.  Finally  he  heard 
a  suppressed  sneeze. 

He  sat  up  upon  the  couch,  and  at  the  noise  of 
his  movements  the  other  sound  ceased,  only  for 
the  quick  breathing. 

"  Who  is  there  ?"  whispered  Oliver  through  the 
darkness. 

For  a  moment  or  two  thp  silence  was  unbro 
ken  ;  then  came  a  dull,  monotonous,  musical  sound, 
somewhat  like  the  humming  of  a  hive  of  bees, 
but  rougher  and  more  rattling.  Oliver,  listening 
with  all  his  soul,  heard  the  same  rustling  footsteps 
as  before,  and  now  they  were  coming  straight 
towards  him.  There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and 
then  something  leaped  upon  the  couch  beside 
him. 

Oliver  sat  as  though  turned  to  stone. 

He  felt  a  faint  breath  upon  his  hand  as  it  rest 
ed  upon  the  cushion  at  his  side,  and  then  some 
thing  pressed  against  his  wrist  and  his  arm.  It 
was  soft,  warm,  furry.  It  was  a  cat. 

In  the  gush  of  relief  at  this  honest,  homely 
animal  companionship  Oliver  broke  down  from 
his  tension  of  nervous  strain  to  laughing  and 
crying  at  once.  Reaching  out  his  hand,  he  began 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  49 

to  stroke  the  creature,  whereupon  it  bowed  its 
back  and  rubbed  against  him  in  dumb  response. 

A  sudden  light  flashed  upon  him.  The  cat 
was  alive ;  it  was  good  honest  flesh  and  blood ; 
there  was  nothing  ghostly  or  demoniacal  about 
it;  where  it  had  entered  it  would  have  to  go 
forth  again,  and  where  it  so  passed  to  and  fro 
there  must  be  some  means  of  ingress  and  egress. 
Why  should  he  not  avail  himself  of  its  aid  to  find 
his  way  out  into  the  daylight  again  ? 

In  a  few  moments  he  had  torn  the  mouldy 
silken  covers  of  one  of  the  cushions  into  small 
strips,  had  twisted  these  strips  into  a  cord,  and 
had  then  tied  the  cord  around  the  cat's  neck. 
Wherever  the  creature  went  now  he  would  fol 
low  as  a  blind  man  follows  his  dog.  He  began 
to  whistle  in  the  excess  of  his  relief  at  the  new 
light  of  hope  which  had  dawned  upon  him.  The 
sound  awoke  shrill  echoes  in  the  black  vaulted 
spaces,  and  he  stopped  abruptly.  "  Yery  well," 
said  he,  half  aloud.  "But  nevertheless,  my  Amer 
ican  uncle,  here  is  a  new  way  out  of  our  troubles." 

By  force  of  habit  he  thrust  his  hands  into  his 
pocket ;  the  two  bottles  of  water  were  still  there. 

It  seemed  to  Oliver  an  age  before  this  miracu 
lously  sent  conductor,  this  feline  saving  angel, 
made  ready  to  take  its  departure.  It  was  hours ; 

4 


50  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

but  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  wait 
patiently  for  the  creature  to  choose  its  own  time 
for  leaving,  for  should  he  undertake  to  urge  it, 
it  might  grow  frightened  and  break  away  from 
him,  and  so  lose  him  the  clew  of  escape.  Yes, 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait  patiently 
until  his  guide  chose  to  bestir  itself. 

Oliver  was  ravenously  hungry,  but  once  or 
twice,  in  spite  of  the  gnawing  of  his  stomach,  he 
fell  into  a  doze  in  the  dead,  monotonous  silence 
of  the  place.  Nevertheless,  through  all  his  nap 
ping,  he  held  tight  to  the  silken  cord.  It  was 
from  such  a  doze  as  this  that  he  was  awakened 
by  feeling  a  twitching  at  the  silken  string,  which 
he  had  wrapped  around  his  hand  for  the  sake  of 
precaution.  The  cat  was  stirring. 

Oliver  loosened  the  cord  so  as  to  give  the  ani 
mal  as  much  freedom  as  possible,  and  then  rose 
to  his  feet.  The  cat,  disturbed  by  his  moving, 
leaped  lightly  to  the  floor.  It  gave  a  faint  mew, 
and  rubbed  once  or  twice  against  his  legs.  Oli 
ver  waited  with  a  beating  heart.  At  last  the 
cat  started  straight  across  the  floor,  and  Oliver, 
holding  the  string,  followed  after  it.  The  next 
minute  he  ran  against  the  corner  of  the  table, 
stumbled  over  the  chair  that  s,tood  beside  it, 
overturning  the  mildewed  lute,  which  fell  with 
a  hollow,  musical  crash. 


A   MODEKN   ALADDIN.  51 

The  cat  had  gone  under  the  table,  and  Oliver 
had  perforce  to  go  down  upon  his  hands  and 
knees  and  follow.  When  he  arose  again  he  was 
bewildered,  and  knew  not  where  he  was ;  he  had 
lost  his  bearings  in  the  blank  darkness  around 
him. 

The  cat  had  become  alarmed,  and  was  now 
struggling  at  the  string  that  held  it,  and  Oliver 
was  afraid  that  it  would  snap  the  cord  and  get 
away  from  him.  He  followed  more  rapidly,  and 
the  next  moment  pitched  headlong  across  the 
couch  in  the  corner.  The  silent  occupant  rattled 
dryly,  and  Oliver  heard  something  fall  with  a 
crash  upon  the  floor,  roll  for  a  space,  and  then 
vibrate  into  silence.  "  Oh,  mon  Dieu!"  he  cried, 
and  crossed  himself.  He  knew  very  well  what 
it  was  that  had  fallen.  But  the  cat  was  now 
struggling  furiously,  and  there  was  no  time  to 
lose  in  qualms.  He  scrambled  to  his  feet,  still 
holding  tight  to  the  silken  cord.  There  was  no 
trouble  now  in  following  the  lead  of  the  animal. 
The  next  moment  his  head  struck  with  terrible 
force  against  the  hard  stone  wall;  he  saw  forty 
thousand  swimming  stars,  and  for  a  moment  was 
stunned  and  bewildered  with  the  force  of  the 
blow. 

When  his  wits  came  back  to  him  the  cat  was 
gone,  but  he  still  held  the  end  of  the  silken  cord 


52  A    MODERN    ALADDIN. 

in  his  hand.  He  stooped,  and  felt  the  direction 
which  the  cord  took.  It  ran  between  two  of 
the  lighter  silken  hangings  upon  the  wall.  He 
parted  them  and  felt  within,  and  his  hand  en 
countered  empty  nothingness.  He  felt  above, 
below,  and  on  each  side,  and  his  touch  met  the 
smooth,  cold  stones  of  the  wall.  The  open  space 
was  about  two  feet  high  and  three  feet  wide.  It 
was  thence  the  cat  had  gone. 

Oliver's  only  chance  was  to  follow  after;  ac 
cordingly  he  dropped  upon  his  knees  and  felt 
within.  For  a  foot  or  more  the  bottom  of  the 
space  ran  upon  a  line  of  the  floor,  then  it  drop 
ped  suddenly  and  sheerly  as  the  wall  of  a  house. 
How  far  it  was  to  the  bottom  Oliver  had  no 
means  of  knowing.  He  reached  down  at  arm's- 
length,  but  could  not  touch  it.  He  crawled  out  of 
the  hole  again,  and  then  reversing  himself,  went 
in  feet  foremost.  He  dropped  his  legs  over  the 
edge  of  the  open  space,  but  still  he  felt  nothing. 
Upon  either  side  he  could  touch  the  sides  of  the 
passage  with  his  toes ;  below,  they  touched  noth 
ing.  He  dropped  himself  lower,  but  still  felt 
nothing.  Lower  still,  and  still  felt  nothing.  He 
let  himself  go  to  his  arm's-length,  and  hung  there 
flat  against  the  wall,  and  felt  about  with  his  feet, 
but  still  they  touched  nothing. 

How  far  was  it  to  the  bottom  of  that  black 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  53 

passage  ?  If  he  let  go  his  hold,  would  he  be 
dashed  to  pieces  below  ?  A  great  wrave  of  fright 
swept  over  him,  and  he  struggled  vehemently  to 
raise  himself  up  to  the  edge  of  the  hole  again 
whence  he  had  descended,  but  he  was  helpless, 
powerless.  In  his  frantic  struggles  his  feet  clash 
ed  against  the  sides  of  the  passage-way,  but  he 
could  nowhere  gain  purchase  to  raise  himself  so 
much  as  a  foot. 

His  struggles  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  and  at 
last  he  hung  helplessly  clinging  to  the  edge  of 
the  hole  above  him  with  cramped  and  nervous 
fingers.  A  red  light  seemed  to  dance  before  his 
eyes,  and  he  felt  his  strength  crumbling  away 
from  him  like  undermined  earth.  He  breathed 
a  short  prayer,  loosed  his  hold — and  fell  about 
six  inches  to  the  bottom  of  the  shaft  beneath. 

He  crouched  there  for  a  while,  weak  and  trem 
bling  in  the  reaction  from  his  terror.  At  last  he 
heaved  a  great  sigh  and  wiped  the  beads  of  sweat 
from  his  forehead  with  his  sleeve.  Then,  rousing 
himself  and  feeling  about  him,  he  found  that  the 
passage-way  continued  at  right  angles  with  the 
bottom  of  the  shaft.  It  seemed  to  Oliver  that  he 
could  distinguish  a  faint  gray  light  in  the  gloom 
with  which  he  was  enveloped.  Nor  was  he  mista 
ken,  for,  crawling  slowly  and  painfully  forward,  he 
found  that  the  light  grew  brighter  and  brighter. 


54  A   MODEEN   ALADDIN. 

Presently  the  passage  took  an  upward  turn, 
and  by-and-by  became  so  steep  that  Oliver  could 
hardly  struggle  forward.  At  last  it  again  be 
came  level  and  easy  to  traverse;  and  still  the 
light  grew  brighter  and  brighter. 

Suddenly  the  passage-way  became  horizontal 
again,  and  Oliver  stopped  in  his  forward  scram 
bling,  and,  sitting  helplessly  down,  began  crying ; 
for  there  in  front  of  him,  a  few  yards  distant, 
the  gray  light  of  the  fading  evening  shone  in  at 
a  square  window-like  hole,  and  into Jt  swept  the 
sweet  fresh  open  air,  fragrant  as  violets  after  the 
close,  dank  smell  of  the  rooms  he  had  left. 

It  was  through  this  passage-way  that  the  silent 
rooms  behind  must  have  been  supplied  with  pure 
air.  At  last  Oliver  roused  himself,  and  scrambled 
forward  and  through  the  hole.  He  found  that 
he  had  come  through  a  blank  wall  and  upon  a 
little  brick  ledge  or  shelf  that  ran  along  it. 

!Nbt  far  away  sat  the  cat  by  means  of  whose 
aid  he  had  come  forth  thus  to  freedom — the  end 
of  the  silken  cord  was  still  around  its  neck.  It 
was  a  black  and  wrhite  mangy-looking  creature, 
but  Oliver  could  have  kissed  it  in  his  joy.  He 
reached  out  his  hand  towards  it  and  called  to  it, 
but  instead  of  answering  it  leaped  from  the  brick 
ledge  to  the  pavement  beneath,  and  the  next  mo 
ment  had  disappeared  into  a  blind  alley  across 


A   MODERN    ALADDIN.  55 

the  narrow  court  upon  which  Oliver  had  come 
through  the  hole  in  the  wall. 

Oliver  sat  for  a  moment  or  two  upon  the  brick 
ledge,  looking  about  him.  Across  the  way  was 
a  high  windowless  wall  of  a  house,  and  below 
that,  at  a  considerable  distance,  a  low  building 
with  a  double  row  of  windows  extending  along 
the  length  of  it.  Close  to  him  was  a  narrow 
door-way — the  only  other  opening  in  the  wall 
through  which  he  had  just  come.  The  ledge 
upon  which  he  sat  ended  abruptly  at  that  door 
way.  Above  him,  and  at  the  end  of  the  alley 
way,  was  another  blind  windowless  wall.  All 
this  Oliver  observed  as  he  sat  upon  the  ledge, 
swinging  his  heels.  Then  he  turned  and  dropped 
lightly  to  the  pavement  beneath.  Something 
chinked  in  his  pocket  as  he  did  so ;  it  was  the 
two  bottles  of  water. 

"  Thank  Heaven !"  said  Oliver,  heaving  a  sigh. 
"I  am  safe  at  last.'' 

There  was  a  sharp  click  of  the  latch  of  the 
door  near  to  where  he  stood,  and  then  it  opened. 
"Good- day,  monsieur,"  said  a  familiar  voice. 
"Your  uncle  waits  supper  for  you."  It  was 
Gaspard,  the  servant,  who  stood  in  the  door- way, 
bowing  and  grimacing  respectfully  as  he  held  it 
open. 

Oliver  staggered  back  against  the  wall  behind 


56  A   MODEKN   ALADDIN. 

him,  and  there  leaned,  sick  and  dizzy.  Presently 
he  groaned,  sick  at  heart,  and  looked  up  and 
down  the  length  of  the  narrow  street,  but  not  an 
other  soul  was  in  sight ;  there  was  nothing  for 
him  to  do  but  to  enter  the  door  that  Gaspard 
held  open  for  him. 

"Straight  ahead,  monsieur,"  said  Gaspard, 
bowing  as  Oliver  passed  him.  "  I  will  show  you 
to  your  uncle,  who  is  waiting  for  you."  He 
closed  the  door  as  he  spoke,  and,  as  Oliver  stood 
aside,  he  passed  him  with  another  respectful  bow, 
and  led  the  way  down  the  long,  gloomy  passage- 
w^ay,  lit  pnly  by  a  narrow  window  at  the  farther 
end. 


SCENE  SIXTH. — The  master's  house. 

At  the  end  of  the  passage-way  Gaspard  opened 
another  door,  and  then,  motioning  with  his  hand, 
bowed  respectfully  for  the  third  time. 

Oliver  passed  through  the  door  -  way,  and  it 
was  as  though  he  had  stepped  from  the  thresh- 
hold  of  one  world  into  another.  Never  in  his 
life  had  he  seen  anything  like  that  world.  He 
turned  his  head  this  way  and  that,  looking  about 
him  in  dumb  bewilderment.  In  confused  per 
ception  he  saw  white  and  gold  panels,  twinkling 
lights,  tapestried  furniture,  inlaid  cabinets  glitter- 


"'fJOOD-DAY,   MON'SIKrn,1  SAID    A    FAMILIAR    VOICR.1" 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  57 

ing  with  glass  and  china,  painted  screens  where 
on  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  piped  and  danced, 
and  white-wigged  ladies  and  gentlemen  bowed 
and  postured.  A  black  satin  mask,  a  painted 
fan,  and  a  slender  glove  lay  upon  the  blue  dam 
ask  upholstery  of  a  white  and  gold  sofa  that 
stood  against  the  wall — the  mask,  the  fan,  and 
the  glove  of  a  fine  lady.  But  all  these  things 
Oliver  saw  only  in  the  moment  of  passing,  for 
Gaspard  led  the  way  directly  up  the  long  room 
with  a  step  silent  as  that  of  a  cat:  A  heavy 
green  silk  curtain  hung  in  the  door-way.  Gas 
pard  drew  it  aside,  and  Oliver,  still  as  in  a  dream, 
passed  through  and  found  himself  in  a  small  room 
crowded  with  rare  books,  porcelains,  crystals,  and 
what  not. 

But  he  had  no  sight  for  them ;  for  in  front  of 
a  glowing  fire,  protected  by  a  square  screen  ex 
quisitely  painted,  and  reclining  in  the  midst  of 
cushions  on  a  tapestried  sofa,  clad  in  a  loose, 
richly -embroidered,  quilted  dressing  -  robe,  his 
white  hand  holding  a  book,  between  the  leaves 
of  which  his  finger  was  thrust,  his  smiling  face 
turned  towards  Oliver — sat  the  master. 

As  Oliver  entered  past  the  bowing  Gaspard, 
he  tossed  the  book  aside  upon  the  table,  and 
sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Ah,  Oliver,  my  dear  child  !"  he  cried.    "  Is  it 


58  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

then  thou  again  ?  Embrace  me !"  and  he  took 
the  limp  Oliver  into  his  arms.  "  Where  hast 
thou  been  ?"  And  he  drew  back  and  looked  into 
Oliver's  face. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  croaked  Oliver,  helplessly. 

"Ah!  Thou  hast  been  gone  a  long  time. 
Thou  art  hungry  ?" 

"  I  was,"  said  Oliver,  wretchedly ;  "  but  I  am 
not  hungry  now." 

"Nay,"  said  the  other;  "thou  must  be  hun 
gry.  See !  Another  little  supper ;"  and  he  mo 
tioned  with  his  hand. 

Oliver  had  not  noticed  it  before,  but  there  was 
a  table  spread  with  a  white  damask  cloth,  and 
with  chairs  placed  for  two. 

"Let  Gaspard  show  you  to  your  apartment, 
where  you  may  wash  and  refresh  yourself,  and 
by  that  time  the  little  supper  will  be  ready." 

Oliver  wondered  what  all  this  meant.  He 
could  scarcely  believe  that  the  smooth-spoken 
master  and  the  quiet  and  well -trained  serving- 
man  were  the  same  two  as  those  white -faced 
demons  who  had  grinned  and  gnashed  at  him 
across  the  blood-red  line  drawn  around  the  door 
way  yonder,  and  yet  he  could  not  doubt  it. 

The  supper  was  over,  and  the  master,  with  his 
fingers  locked  around  his  glass,  leaned  across  the 


'•'THE  QUESTION  WAS  so  SUDDEN  AND  so  STARTLING  THAT  OLIVER 

SANK    BACK    IN    HIS    SEAT." 


A   MODEKN   ALADDIN.  59 

table  towards  Oliver,  who,  after  all,  had  made  a 
good  meal  of  it. 

"  And  those  bottles  of  water,"  said  he.  "  Did 
we  then  bring  them  with  us  from  that  place 
down  yonder  ?"  He  jerked  his  head  over  his. 
shoulder. 

The  question  was  so  sudden  and  so  startling 
that  Oliver  sank  back  in  his  seat,  with  all  the 
strength  gone  out  of  his  back — and  he  was  just 
beginning  to  feel  more  easy.  He  could  not 
speak  a  word  in  answer,  but  he  nodded  his  head. 

"  Then  give  them  to  me,"  said  the  other,  sharp 
ly.  And  Oliver  saw  the  delicate  pointed  fingers 
hook  in  spite  of  themselves. 

But  Oliver  was  no  longer  the  Oliver  that  had 
sat  on  the  bench  in  front  of  the  inn  at  Flourens 
that  little  while  ago;  he  had  passed  through 
much  of  late,  he  had  gained  wisdom,  shrewdness, 
cunning.  Instead  of  helplessly  handing  the  two 
phials  over  to  the  other,  as  he  might  have  done 
a  few  hours  before,  he  suddenly  pushed  back  his 
chair,  and  rose  to  his  feet.  'Not  far  from  him 
was  a  window  that  looked  out  upon  the  street ;  he 
stepped  quickly  to  it,  and  flung  it  open.  " Look!" 
he  cried,  in  a  ringing  voice.  "  I  know  you  now 
— you  and  your  servant.  You  are  devils !  You 
are  stronger  than  I,  but  I  have  some  power." 
He  drew  forth  the  two  bottles  from  his  pocket. 


60  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

"  See !"  said  he,  "  here  is  what  you  have  set  your 
soul  upon,  and  for  which  you  desired  to  kill  me. 
"Without  you  promise  me  all  that  I  ask,  I  will 
fling  them  both  out  upon  the  pavement  beneath. 
And  what  then  ?  They  will  be  broken,  and  the 
water  will  run  down  into  the  gutter  and  be  gone." 

There  was  a  moment  of  dead  silence,  during 
which  Oliver  stood  by  the  open  window  with 
the  two  phials  in  his  hand,  and  the  master  sat 
looking  smilingly  at  him.  After  a  while  the 
smile  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  Come,  Oliver,"  said  he,  "  you  have  learned 
much  since  I  first  saw  you  at  Flourens.  You 
are  grand  in  your  heroics.  What,  then,  would 
you  have  of  me,  that  you  thus  threaten  ?" 

Oliver  thought  for  a  moment.  "  I  would  have 
you  let  me  go  from  here  safe  and  sound,"  said  he. 

"  Yery  good,"  said  the  other.  "  And  what  else  ?" 

"That  you  promise  I  shall  suffer  no  harm 
either  from  you  or  your  servant  Gaspard." 

"  Yery  good.     And  what  else  2" 

"  That  you  tell  me  the  secret  of  that  dreadful 
place  where  I  have  been." 

"  Yery  good.     And  what  else  ?" 

"  That  you  show  me  the  virtue  of  this  water." 

"  Yery  good.    And  what  else  ?" 

"  That  you  let  me  have  half  the  gain  that  is  to 
be  had  from  it." 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  61 

"  Very  good.     And  what  else  ?" 

Oliver  thought  for  a  moment  or  two.  "  Why 
this !"  said  he ;  "  that  you  tell  me  why  you  sought 
me  out  at  Flourens,  and  how  you  knew  that  I 
had  escaped  from  that  pit  into  which  you  had 
locked  me." 

"  Very  good.     And  what  else  ?" 

Oliver  thought  for  another  little  while.  "  Noth 
ing  else,"  said  he  at  last. 

Once  more  the  other  laughed.  "  If  I  refuse," 
said  he, "  you  throw  those  bottles  out  of  the 
window  ?" 

Oliver  nodded. 

"  And  you  know  what  would  then  happen  ?" 

Oliver  nodded  again. 

"And  if  I  promise,"  said  he,  " what  then ?" 

"  I  will  give  to  you  those  bottles  that  you  seek," 
said  Oliver. 

"  But  what  shall  I  promise  by  ?     My  honor  ?" 

Oliver  shook  his  head. 

The  other  laughed.  "  Do  you  not  trust  that  ?" 
said  he.  "  No  ?  By  what,  then,  shall  I  promise?" 

A  sudden  flash  of  recollection  passed  through 
Oliver's  mind,  a  sudden  inspiration  came  to  him. 
"  Promise  by  this,"  he  cried,  in  a  ringing  voice— 


62  A   MODEEN  ALADDIN. 

and  he  drew  the  figure  which  he  had  seen  de 
picted  upon  the  red  line  around  the  door-way  at 
the  bottom  of  the  stone  steps — the  line  that  had 
kept  back  Gaspard  and  his  master  like  a  Avail  of 
adamant.  The  other's  face  grew  as  black  as  thun 
der.  There  was  a  sharp  click — he  had  crushed 
the  glass  in  his  hand  to  fragments.  A  drop  of 
blood  fell  from  his  palm  upon  the  table-cloth, 
but  he  did  not  seem  to  notice  it. 

"  Promise  by  that  ?"  said  he,  a  little  hoarsely. 

"  Yes,"  said  Oliver ;  "  by  that  sign." 

The  other  swallowed  as  though  a  hard  lump 
were  in  his  throat.  "Very  well,"  said  he;  "I 
promise." 

Oliver  saw  that  the  promise  would  be  kept. 
He  closed  the  window  near  to  which  he  stood. 
When  he  turned  around,  the  other's  face  was 
smooth  and  smiling  again. 

"  And  now  sit  down,"  said  he,  "  and  let  us  fin 
ish  our  little  supper,  then  I  will  tell  you  the  story 
of  those  rooms  yonder,  and  of  the  dead  lady 
whom  you  found  there." 


A    MODERN    ALADDIN.  63 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  MYSTERIOUS  CHAMBERS. 

A  MONOLOGUE  BY  THE  MASTER. 
I. 

The  master  drew  his  chair  a  little  more  around 
towards  the  fire,  and  drawing  a  gold  toothpick 
from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  settled  himself  com 
fortably.  "  Did  you  ever  hear,"  said  he,  "  of  a 
certain  Spaniard,  a  very  learned  man,  a  great 
philosopher,  and  a  renowned  alchemist,  named 
Eaymond  Lulli  ?" 

"No,"  said  Oliver;  "I  never  heard  tell  of 
him." 

"  Or  of  Arnold  de  Yilleneuve,  the  great  French 
doctor,  also  a  renowned  alchemist  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Oliver,  "  nor  of  him  either." 

"  Well,  that  is  not  surprising ;  your  attention 
has  not  been  called  to  such  matters,  and  they 
died  more  than  four  hundred  years  ago.  Never 
theless,  the  history  of  the  room  you  saw  down 
yonder  relates  to  them,  and  I  am  about  to  tell 
you  the  story  of  it  as  well  as  I  know  it. 

"  It  was  luck  or  chance  or  fate,  or  whatever 
you  call  it,  that  first  turned  Raymond  Lulli's  at 
tention  to  alchemy.  At  the  time  he  was  study- 


64:  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

ing  Arabic  in  the  mountains  of  Aranda,  at  the 
shrine  of  St.  James  de  Castello. 

"  When  his  mistress,  the  beautiful  Ambrosia 
de  Compastello  died,  Raymond  Lulli  took  it  into 
his  head  to  follow  a  droll  fashion  sometimes 
practised  in  those  musty  old  days.  He  made  a 
vow — perhaps  rather  hastily — to  devote  the  rest 
of  his  life  to  religion;  to  spend  it  in  converting 
Mussulmans  to  what  was  called  the  true  faith. 
So,  to  prepare  himself,  he  began  studying  Arabic 
in  the  mountains  of  Aranda. 

"  One  day  the  Father  Superior  sent  to  him  a 
great  chest  of  Arabian  books  which  had  just 
been  received  at  the  convent.  Among  them  was 
a  curious  little  volume,  square  and  bulky,  which 
was  not  written  in  Arabic,  but  in  characters  of  a 
kind  which  Raymond  had  never  seen  before,  and 
which  somewhat  resembled  Hebrew.  Upon  the 
first  page  of  the  book  was  a  picture,  and  upon 
the  last  page  was  another.  The  first  represented 
a  flower  with  a  blue  stalk,  red  and  white  blos 
soms,  and  leaves  of  pure  gold,  which  stood  upon 
a  mountain-top,  and  was  bent  by  a  gust  of  wind 
which  blew  from  a  blood-red  cloud.  Around  the 
flower  was  a  circle  of  open  eyes.  Above  this 
circle  was  a  naked  hand  holding  a  sword  trans 
versely  by  the  blade.  Below  was  a  heart  trans 
fixed  by  what  appeared  to  be  a  long  pointed  nail 


A   MODEBN   ALADDIN.  65 

or  spike.  The  picture  upon  the  last  page  of  the 
book  represented  a  king  with  a  golden  sword  in 
the  act  of  killing  a  naked  child,  and  a  beautiful 
winged  figure  catching  the  blood  in  a  crystal 
vase.  At  the  head  of  the  first  page  of  the  text 
of  the  book  were  three  rubricated  Arabic  words. 
Below  the  last  page  of  the  text  were  three  He 
brew  words,  also  in  rubrics.  All  six  words  had  a 
meaning,  but  it  is  not  necessary  to  tell  you  what 
they  were  or  wiiat  they  were  intended  to  signify. 
"  Now  it  chanced  one  day  that  Raymond  was 
reading  a  volume  written  by  one  Abou  Ben  Has 
san,  surnamed  Al  Sofi,  or  the  Wise.  The  manu 
script  had  been  sent  to  him  by  the  Father  Supe 
rior  in  the  same  case  with  the  curious  little  volume 
of  which  I  have  first  spoken.  This  work  of  the 
learned  Ben  Hassan  was  written  upon  the  subject 
of  hermetic  philosophy.  In  it  was  one  passage 
upon  which  Raymond  Lulli  happened,  and  which 
altered  the  whole  course  of  his  life.  The  author 
was  descanting  upon  the  learning  and  wisdom  of 
Hermes  Trismegistus,  of  whom,  Oliver,  it  is  alto 
gether  likely  that  you  never  heard.  The  passage 
itself  ran  somewhat  thus  (I  have  often  read  it 
myself):  <  Since  that  time,  so  the  words  ran,  hath 
never  a  man  lived  so  wise  as  Hermes  Trismegistus, 
saving  only  the  great  Geber  (so  called  by  the 
Christians,  but  whom  the  learned  among  the 


66  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

faithful  knew  better  as  Abou  Moussah  Djafar), 
who  was,  indeed,  the  ripest  apple  from  the  flow 
ery  tree  of  learning.  He  it  was  who  wrote  that 
great  thesis,  which,  did  it  now  exist  (for  it  is,  alas! 
lost  to  the  world),  and  did  there  live  a  being  pos 
sessed  with  deep  and  sufficient  knowledge  to  read 
the  same,  would  more  enrich  him  who  could  in 
terpret  it,  both  with  knowledge  and  with  wealth, 
than  any  one  who  hath  ever  lived  since  the  days 
of  King  Solomon.  It  would,  moreover,  teach  him 
a  knowledge  of  that  by  means  of  which  he  might 
prolong  his  life  to  a  thousand  years,  if  he  so  chose 
to  prolong  it.  For  the  great  Geber  had  collected 
with  infinite  pains  and  ripest  study  the  wisdom 
hidden  in  the  tombs  and  mountains  of  farther 
Egypt,  and  had  in  his  work  explicated  those 
two  mysterious  arcana  which  the  wisdom  of 
ages  hath  striven  in  vain  to  penetrate,  to  wit, 
the  secret  of  life  and  the  secret  of  wealth.  Yea, 
not  even  the  great  Hermes  Trismegistus  him 
self  was  able  to  solve  those  two  questions, 
which  are,  indeed,  the  fruition  of  all  learning— 
the  attainment  of  unfailing  life  and  of  infinite 
wealth. 

" '  But  even  were  that  volume,  in  which  lieth 
hidden  those  tremendous  secrets,  to  fall  into  the 
hands  of  man  at  this  day,  who  at  present  now 
liveth  could  read  or  interpret  it,  or  could  un- 


A   MODEKN  ALADDIN.  67 

derstand  a  single  one  of  those  mysterious  sen 
tences  of  his  wherein  lieth  hidden  the  secrets  of 
life  and  wealth  ?  For  hath  not  the  great  Geber 
himself  said,  "  He  who  would  understand  must 
first  climb  the  mountain  of  difficulty,  and  pluck 
from  the  blue  stem  the  red  and  white  blossoms  ?" 
Hath  not  he  also  said, "  He  must,  last  of  all,  drink 
the  blood  of  the  infant  from  the  crystal  cup  of 
the  king  and  the  seraphim?"  And  who  liveth 
now  that  could  understand  these  words,  much 
less  accomplish  that  task  which  he  hath  set  as  a 
bar  across  the  path-way  of  knowledge — to  pluck 
that  flower  and  to  drink  that  blood  ?' 

"  Such,  my  dear  Oliver,  are,  as  near  as  I  can 
recollect,  the  very  words  of  the  learned  Abou 
Ben  Hassan.  Conceive,  if  you  can,  their  effect 
upon  Eaymond  Lulli.  It  was  as  though  a  thun 
der-bolt  had  fallen  at  his  feet,  and  as  though  he 
beheld  a  great  truth  by  the  flash  of  light  that 
accompanied  it.  That  volume  of  the  wise  Geber, 
that  repository  of  the  two  great  secrets  of  the 
world,  had  fallen  into  his,  Eaymond  Lulli' s,  hands 
as  though  blown  there  by  the  wind  of  fate. 

"  Now,  at  that  time  the  most  learned  man  in 
Europe,  perhaps  the  most  learned  in  the  world, 
was  Arnold  de  Yilleneuve.  He  was  the  most 
skilful  physician  and  the  greatest  scholar  of  his 
day,  and  was  in  the  very  height  and  prime  of  his 


68  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

powers.  Kaymond  Lulli  determined  to  apply  to 
him  for  a  solution  of  the  mysteries  of  the  little 
volume,  and  thereupon  set  out  at  once  for  Paris 
to  accomplish  his  purpose. 

"Accordingly,  one  morning,  as  Arnold  sat  in 
his  cabinet  engrossed  in  his  studies,  there  came 
a  rap  upon  the  door.  It  was  the  servant,  who 
announced  a  stranger  below.  The  doctor  bade 
the  servant  show  him  in.  It  was  Haymond  Lulli, 
dusty  and  travel-stained. 

"  As  soon  as  the  servant  had  quitted  the  room*, 
he  came  close  to  the  table  at  which  Arnold  sat, 
and  addressed  him  in  the  grandiloquent  way  of 
the  day,  somewhat  in  this  fashion :  i  I  have  come 
a  long  and  weary  way,  I  have  taken  a  bitter  and 
toilsome  journey  to  seek  you,  and  to  beseech  of 
you  to  give  me  one  little  measure  from  your 
great  storehouse  of  wisdom  and  learning.'  So 
saying,  he  thrust  his  hand  into  his  bosom  and 
brought  forth  the  little  volume,  wrapped  care 
fully  in  the  folds  of  a  linen  cloth.  He  opened  it, 
and  held  it  before  the  eyes  of  Arnold  de  Yille- 
neuve.  '  Tell  me,  master,'  said  he, '  in  what  lan 
guage  and  with  what  characters  is  this  little 
volume  written  ?' 

"Arnold  laughed.  'It  is  written  in  ancient 
Chaldee,  my  son,'  said  he.  4  And  have  you,  then, 
sought  me  out  to  answer  you  such  a  question  as 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  69 

that  ?  There  are  many  other  scholars  in  Europe 
who  could  have  told  you  as  much.' 

"'No,  master,'  said  Kaymond;  'it  was  not 
alone  for  that  that  I '  sought  you,  for,  as  you 
say,  there  are  others  that  could  have  told  me  as 
much ;  but  who  save  you  could  unfold  to  me  the 
meaning  of  this  ?'  And  he  opened  the  book  at 
the  first  picture  representing  the  flower  upon 
the  mountain-top.  <  And  who  but  you,  the  great 
Arnold  de  Yilleneuve,  could  teach  me  how  to 
climb  the  mountain  of  knowledge  and  pluck  the 
flower  of  wisdom  ?  "Will  you  teach  me  that, 
master  ?' 

"Arnold  de  Yilleneuve  said  nothing  at  all, but 
his  face  had  grown  all  at  once  very  white.  By- 
and-by  he  drew  a  deep  breath.  'I  will  try  to 
teach  you  the  secrets  of  that  book,'  said  he,  after 
a  while ;  i  but  it  will  be  a  long  and  weary  task, 
for  I  have  first  to  learn  very  much  myself.' 


II. 

"  That  morning  at  dinner — for  they  used  in 
those  days,  Oliver,  to  dine  at  ten  or  eleven  o'clock 
in  the  morning — Raymond  Lulli  saw  for  the  first 
time  Agnes  de  Yilleneuve,  who  was  then  reputed 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Paris.  It  was  no 
wonder  that,  fresh  from  the  ennui  of  the  solitude 


70  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

of  the  mountains  of  Aranda,  he  should  have  fall 
en  passionately  in  love  with  her.  Neither  was  it 
strange  that  Agnes  should  love  him.  For  this  pro 
pinquity,  Oliver,  is  a  droll  affair.  It  will  cause  a 
woman  to  fall  in  love  with  a  ghoul,  not  to  speak 
of  one  so  tall  and  handsome  as  Raymond  Lulli. 
So  she  loved  him  as  passionately  as  he  loved  her. 
It  was  as  natural  as  for  steel  and  loadstone  to 
come  together. 

"  In  the  days  and  weeks  that  followed,  Arnold 
de  Villeneuve  saw  nothing  of  what  was  passing 
between  the  two.  In  his  eyes  Eaymond  Lulli 
was  but  a  fellow-student.  It  did  not  occur  to 
him  that  passion  might  find  place  even  in  the 
bosom  of  such  an  ardent  follower  of  alchemy  as 
this  new  scholar  of  his.  He  beheld  only  the 
philosopher  and  student ;  he  forgot  the  man. 
For  months  the  two  labored  and  toiled  like 
slaves,  striving  to  discover  those  two  secrets  con 
tained  in  the  great  Geber's  book,  and  hidden  be 
neath  the  strange  formulas,  the  obscure  words, 
and  the  mystic  pictures.  One  day  they  seemed 
upon  the  very  edge  of  success,  the  next  day  they 
failed,  and  had  to  begin  again  from  the  very  be 
ginning.  The  laboratory  in  which  they  conduct 
ed  their  great  work  was  one  in  which  Arnold  de 
Yilleneuve  had  already  carried  forward  and  com 
pleted  some  of  his  most  secret,  delicate,  and  sue- 


SUCH    WAS    THE    WORKSHOP    IX    WHICH    THK    TWO    LABORED 
TOGETHER." 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  71 

cessful  operations.  Within  the  wall  of  the  gar 
den  back  of  his  house  he  had  had  a  hollow 
passage-way  constructed,  which  ran  for  some  lit 
tle  distance  to  the  deep  cellar-like  vault  that  had, 
perhaps,  at  one  time  been  the  dungeon  of  some 
ancient  fortress.  Beneath  this  vault  or  dungeon 
were  three  rooms,  opening  one  into  another,  that 
had  in  a  far  distant  period  been  hewn  out  of  the 
solid  rock.  They  were  the  rooms  from  which 
you,  Oliver,  escaped  only  a  little  while  ago.  Two 
of  those  rooms  were  sumptuously  and  luxuriously 
furnished;  the  furthermost  was  the  laboratory 
where  the  two  great  problems  were  solved — the 
problem  of  life  and  the  problem  of  wealth.  Such 
was  the  workshop  in  which  the  two  labored  to 
gether,  occasionally  for  days  at  a  time ;  the  one 
sometimes  sleeping  while  the  other  compounded 
new  formulas  or  watched  the  progress  of  slow 
emulsions. 

"  It  was,  as  Arnold  de  Yilleneuve  had  predict 
ed,  a  long  and  toilsome  labor  which  they  had  un 
dertaken  ;  it  was,  as  the  great  Geber  had  said, 
a  tremendous  task  to  climb  the  steep  mountain 
of  knowledge  and  to  pluck  the  mystic  flower  of 
wisdom  from  the  top.  But  at  last  the  summit 
was  reached.  Suddenly,  one  morning,  unexpected 
success  fell  upon  them  like  a  flash  of  lightning ; 
for  this,  like  many  other  successes,  happened 


72  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

through  an  accident — the  overturning  of  a  phial 
(the  contents  of  which  it  had  taken  months  to 
prepare)  into  a  mortar  in  which  Kaymond  was 
mixing  a  powder.  It  all  happened  in  a  moment 
—the  accidental  brushing  of  a  sleeve— but  that 
one  moment  was  sufficient ;  the  secret  of  life  was 
discovered.  From  the  secret  of  life  to  the  se 
cret  of  wealth  was  but  a  step ;  the  one  hung  upon 
the  other.  The  very  next  day  they  discovered 
that  which  shall  make  us — you,  Oliver,  and  me, 
whom  you  may  henceforth  call  <  master ' — the 
richest  men  in  France.  Did  you  know  that  the 
diamond  and  the  charcoal  are  the  one  and  the 
same  thing  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Oliver, « I  did  not ;  the  one  is  black 
and  the  other  is  white. 

Oliver's  companion  laughed.  "There  is  less 
difference  between  black  and  white,  Oliver,  and 
between  the  charcoal  and  the  diamond,  than  most 
people  think.  Later  you  will  learn  that  for  your 
self  ;  just  now  you  must  take  my  word  for  it. 
But  to  resume  our  narrative.  The  next  morn 
ing  Eaymond  and  his  master,  as  I  have  said,  pro 
duced  from  the  first  formula  a  second,  by  means 
of  one  drop  of  which  they  created  in  a  closed 
crucible,  in  which  five  pounds  of  charcoal  had 
been  volatilized,  a  half -score  of  diamond  crystals 
of  various  sizes,  and  one  fine  blue- white  crystal 


A   MODEEN   ALADDIN.  73 

of  nearly  eight  carats  in  size.  Oliver,"  cried  the 
speaker,  rising  in  his  enthusiasm,  and  striding  up 
and  down  the  room,  "  that  was,  to  my  belief,  the 
greatest  discovery  that  the  world  ever  saw! 
Other  philosophers  have  approached  the  solution 
of  the  problem  of  life,  and  have  prolonged  their 
existence  ten,  twenty,  yes,  fifty  years ;  still  other 
philosophers  have  transmuted  the  baser  metals 
into  gold ;  but  who  ever  heard  of  transmuting 
black  charcoal  into  brilliant  diamonds?"  He 
stopped  abruptly  and  turned  towards  the  lad, 
and  Oliver  saw  the  eyes  which  looked  into  his 
blaze  with  excitement,  like  the  diamonds  of  which 
he  spoke.  "Do  you  wonder,"  he  cried,  "that 
Raymond  Lulli  and  his  master  acted  like  mad 
men  when  they  opened  that  retort,  and  found 
those  sparkling  crystals  twinkling  like  stars  upon 
the  rough  surface  of  the  metal  ?  Ha !" 


III. 

"  But,  as  I  said,  it  was  a  long  time  before  those 
experiments  were  concluded  —  before  the  great 
problems  of  life  and  wealth  were  solved.  Nine 
months  had  passed  since  Raymond  had  come, 
dusty  and  travel-stained,  like  a  beggar  to  the 
master's  door,  asking  for  crumbs  of  knowledge. 
It  was  the  consummation  of  their  life's  success. 


74  A   MODEEN   ALADDIN. 

The  very  next  morning  after  that  consummation 
came  ruin.  A  blow,  sharp  and  terrible,  fell  upon 
the  house. 

"  It  was  late,  and  the  master  had  not  yet  made 
his  appearance.  Raymond  Lulli,  passing  along 
the  hall-way  with  a  book  under  his  arm,  met 
Agnes  at  a  door-way. 

"  '  My  father,'  said  she, '  has  not  yet  come  down 
from  his  room.' 

" '  I  will  call  him,  Agnes,'  said  Raymond,  and 
then  she  noticed  that  his  face  was  as  pale  as  ashes. 

" '  Are  you  ill,  Raymond?'  she  asked. 

" '  No — yes,  I  am  ill,'  he  shuddered.  '  I  will  go 
and  call  your  father.'  And  he  turned  away. 

"  Agnes  stood  watching  him  as  he,  with  slow, 
heavy  steps,  climbed  the  steep  stairs  that  led  to 
the  master's  room  above.  She  watched  him  as 
he  reached  the  door  and  knocked ;  and  then, 
after  a  pause,  knocked  again,  and  then  again ; 
she  watched  him  as  he  laid  his  hand  hesitatingly 
upon  the  latch,  and  then  raised  it,  and  pushed 
open  the  door. 

"The  next  moment  the  heavy  book  slipped 
from  under  his  arm,  and  fell  with  a  crash  to  the 
floor.  i Agnes!'  he  cried,  'your  father!'  And 
then  his  voice  rang  through  the  house :  '  Jean ! 
Franquois !  Joseph !  The  master,  help !  —  the 
master !' 


'THKY    SA\V    ARNOLD    I)K    VILLENEUVE,   THE    GREAT   MASTER,  UPON 
THE    FLOOR." 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  75 

" There  was  a  shriek;  it  was  Agnes;  there 
was  a  confusion  of  voices  and  of  running  feet, 
and  when  the  people  of  the  house  crowded  into 
and  around  the  door-way,  they  saw  Arnold  de 
Yilleneuve,  the  great  master,  lying  upon  the 
floor,  his  eyes  closed,  and  his  head  resting  upon 
his  daughter's  lap,  as  she  kneeled  beside  him. 
His  face  was  white  and  drawn,  and  every  now 
and  then  he  shook  with  a  hiccough.  It  was 
not  a  pleasant  sight,  Oliver,  and  there  was  no 
need  to  ask  the  question — the  awful  gray  veil  of 
death  rested  upon  the  great  doctor's  face. 

"At  a  little  distance  from  the  father  and  the 
daughter  stood  Raymond  Lulli,  with  a  face  al 
most  as  ashen  white  as  that  of  the  dying  man. 
He  turned  to  the  frightened  servants. 

"  'Why  do  you  stand  there  like  fools?'  he  cried. 
i  Come,  lift  the  master  upon  his  bed.' 

"  They  approached  at  Raymond's  bidding,  and, 
raising  the  dying  physician,  laid  him  back  upon 
the  bed,  from  which  he  had  apparently  just  risen 
when  the  stroke  of  death  fell  upon  him. 

"Minute  after  minute  passed  in  dead  silence, 
broken  only  now  and  then  by  a  suppressed  sob 
from  one  of  the  servants  who  stood  around. 
Agnes  sat  upon  the  bedside,  silently  holding  her 
dying  father's  hand  in  hers.  Half  an  hour  went 
by — an  hour — the  end  was  very  near.  Then  sud- 


76  A    MODERN    ALADDIN. 

denly  Arnold  opened  his  eyes ;  they  were  sight 
less  to  this  world ;  they  were  gazing  straight  into 
the  shadow  of  eternity  that  hung  like  a  curtain 
before  him.  His  lips  moved,  and  at  last  a  strug 
gling  sound  passed  them. 

" '  Agnes !'  said  he,  in  a  thick,  guttural  voice. 
'  Agnes !' 

" '  Here  I  am,  father,'  said  she,  and  she  leaned 
forward,  bringing  her  face  before  his  eyes ;  a 
gleam  of  intelligence  flickered  faintly  in  them. 
He  beckoned  stiffly,  and  Agnes  drew  still  nearer. 
The  dying  man  raised  his  hand  and  touched  her 
face ;  he  felt  blindly  for  a  moment,  passing  his 
cold,  leaden  fingers  over  her  brows,  and  at  last, 
as  though  finding  her  eyes,  pressed  his  palm  upon 
them.  He  held  his  hand  there  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  then  let  it  fall  heavily  beside  him,  and  those 
who  looked  saw  Agnes's  eyes  were  now  closed. 
For  a  moment  or  two  there  was  a  pause  of  dead 
silence. 

"  It  was  Arnold's  voice,  thick,  guttural,  inar 
ticulate,  that  broke  the  hush :  <  Look !' 

"  Agnes  opened  her  eyes. 

"  Arnold  raised  his  hand,  and  with  his  fore 
finger  began  feebly  drawing  strange  figures  in 
the  air ;  at  first  stiffly,  then  gradually  more  free 
ly  as  he  gathered  his  dying  powers  into  one  last 
effort. 


A  MODERN  ALADDIN.  77 

"At  first  Agnes  gazed  at  the  slow-moving 
band  intently,  wonderingly.  Eaymond  sat  near 
by,  with  his  chin  resting  upon  his  palm  and  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor,  brooding  darkly.  By- 
and-by  those  who  watched  saw  the  color  fade 
slowly  out  of  her  cheeks ;  they  saw  her  face 
grow  pinched  and  her  eyes  dilate.  At  last  she 
reached  out  her  hand  and  laid  it  upon  her  fa 
ther's,  holding  it  fast  in  spite  of  his  stiff  and  fee 
ble  efforts  to  release  it. 

"  <  Stop,  father !'  she  cried.  <  Oh,  God  !  Stop, 
I  can  bear  no  more.' 

" '  Look,'  said  Arnold,  thickly. 

"  He  had  released  his  hand,  and  now  again  be 
gan  drawing  figures  in  the  air.  All  were  look 
ing  at  him  wonderingly,  excepting  Eaymond 
Lulli,  who  never  once  raised  his  eyes,  fixed  brood- 
ingly  upon  the  floor.  At  last  the  motions  ceased, 
and  the  hand  fell  heavily  upon  the  bed  beside 
the  dying  man.  Agnes  sat  silent,  looking  into 
his  face  with  a  face  as  white.  At  last  she  spoke, 
in  an  unsteady,  constrained  voice. 

" '  Father,'  said  she,  '  is  there  nothing  else  ? 
Must  I  do  that?' 

"  No  answer. 

" '  Father,'  said  she  again, i  must  I  do  that  ?' 

"  Agnes  waited  for  a  little  while,  then  again 
said: 


78  A   MODEEN   ALADDIN. 

" i  Father,  must  I  do  that  ?  Is  there  nothing 
else?  Must  I  do  that?' 

" '  Yes.' 

"  There  was  another  space  of  breathless  silence, 
and  then  one  of  the  women  began  to  cry ;  the 
others  joined  in  with  her.  Arnold  de  Yilleneuve 
was  dead. 

"  Agnes  arose  from  the  side  of  the  bed  where 
she  sat,  and,  without  saying  a  word,  walked  slow 
ly  and  stiffly  out  of  the  room. 

"That  same  afternoon  her  waiting -woman 
came  to  Eaymond  Lulli,  and  told  him  that  her 
mistress  wished  to  speak  with  him.  He  followed 
the  woman  up  the  long  flight  of  steps  to  the 
door  of  Agnes's  chamber.  He  knocked,  and 
heard  a  faint  voice  within  bid  him  enter.  Agnes 
was  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  clad  in 
a  dark  rich  dress,  heavily  embroidered  with  seed- 
pearls.  Her  dark  hair  was  gathered  loosely  be 
hind  by  a  golden  serpent  which  held  the  locks 
together.  There  were  no  signs  of  tears  upon  her 
pale  face,  but  her  eyes  were  encircled  by  dark 
rings. 

"  Eaymond  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  her. 
i  Agnes !'  he  cried,  and  then  came  forward  into 
the  room,  and  took  her  into  his  arms.  She  nei 
ther  yielded  nor  resisted,  but  stood  passive  and 
motionless.  There  was  something  about  her  that 


A   MODEBN   ALADDIN.  79 

struck  a  chill  through  him ;  he  drew  back,  and 
looked  into  her  face.  l  Agnes,'  he  said, i  what  is 
it  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  Do  you  not  love  me  ?' 

"  There  was  a  moment's  pause.  '  Yes,'  said 
Agnes, i  I  love  you.' 

"Again  Raymond  took  her  in  his  arms,  but 
still  there  was  no  response. 

"  Suddenly  she  laid  her  hand  upon  his  breast, 
and  drew  a  little  back.  f  Tell  me,'  said  she — '  tell 
me,  Raymond,  is  there  in  this  house  a  little  crys 
tal  globe  in  a  silver  box  ?' 

"  Raymond  hesitated.    ;  Yes,'  said  he. 

"  Agnes's  lips  moved  as  though  she  said  some 
thing  to  herself.  Then  she  spoke  again  :  '  And 
tell  me  one  thing  more,  did  not  you  and  my  fa 
ther  discover  a  clear  liquor  by  means  of  which 
you  could  become  richer  than  any  one  in  France 
or  in  the  world  ?' 

" '  Yes,'  said  Raymond.  Again  he  saw  Agnes's 
lips  move. 

" '  And  tell  me,'  said  she ; '  have  you  not  a  book 
written  in  strange  characters,  and  illuminated 
with  two  strange  pictures  V 

" '  Yes,'  said  Raymond. 

"  Again,  for  the  third  time,  Agnes  moved  her 
lips,  and  this  time  Raymond  heard  the  words 
which  she  whispered  to  herself :  '  Then  it  is  true.' 

" '  What  is  true,  Agnes  ?'  said  he. 


80  A    MODERN   ALADDIX. 

« 

"  She  did  not  seem  to  hear  his  question.  *  Tell 
me  this,  Raymond,'  said  she, '  did  not  you  and  my 
father  work  together  in  a  dark  vaulted  place  un 
der  the  ground  ?' 

"  '  Yes,'  said  Raymond. 

"  Agnes  paused  for  an  instant.  i  Then  take  me 
there,  Raymond,'  said  she. 

"For  a  moment  or  two  Raymond  could  not 
speak  for  surprise.  '  What  ?'  he  cried.  '  Take 
you  there  ?  Take  you  there  now,  at  this  time  ? 

" '  Yes,  now.' 

" '  Agnes,  I  do  not  understand.' 

" '  It  is  of  no  importance  that  you  should  un 
derstand,'  said  she ;  '  only  I  have  something  to 
show  you  there  that  you  have  not  yet  seen,  and 
of  which  you  know  nothing.' 

"  You  know  the  path  they  took,  Oliver ;  you 
yourself  walked  along  it  at  my  heels  the  other 
day.  Agnes  and  Raymond  traversed  that  same 
passage,  descended  the  same  stair  that  you  de 
scended,  entered  the  vault  that  you  entered. 
There  Raymond  Lulli  unlocked  the  padlock  and 
raised  the  trap-door  as  you  saw  Gaspard  unlock 
the  one  and  raise  the  other.  He  took  the  same 
lantern  from  the  shelf  within  as  Gaspard  took  it, 
and  lit  the  candle  as  Gaspard  lit  it,  then  descend 
ing  the  stairs,  they  entered  the  first  of  the  three 
rooms  below. 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  81 

"  Raymond  lit  the  lamp  that  you  found  hang 
ing  there  from  the  ceiling,  and  Agnes  stood  for 
a  moment  looking  around  her.  The  tapestries 
and  hangings  and  all  that  you  saw  were  fresh 
and  beautiful  then. 

"  They  entered  the  room  beyond  where  were 
the  remains  of  the  supper  that  Raymond  and  his 
master  had  eaten  the  night  before ;  the  chairs  by 
the  table  pushed  carelessly  back  as  they  had  left 
them,  and  as  you,  Oliver,  found  them. 

"  Thence  they  passed  through  the  narrow  pas 
sage,  and  entered  the  laboratory  beyond,  where 
Agnes  saw  the  two  sealed  phials  standing  upon 
the  stone  table  as  you  saw  them. 

"  Agnes  pointed  with  her  finger  towards  them. 
'And  that,'  said  she — 'that,  then,  is  the  precious 
liquor  of  wealth  that  you  and  my  father  dis 
covered  ?' 

" l  Yes,'  said  Raymond. 

" l  And  it  can  transmute  charcoal  to  diamonds  ?' 

"  Raymond  hesitated.     '  Yes,'  said  he. 

"  Agnes  turned  suddenly  upon  him.  '  And  tell 
me,  Raymond,'  she  said, i  have  you  not  that  little 
crystal  globe  in  the  silver  casket?'  Raymond 
instinctively  raised  his  hand  to  his  breast.  fl 
see  you  have,'  said  she,  smiling.  <  It  contains  the 
secret  of  life  ?' 

"Raymond  nodded  his  head. 
6 


82  A  MODERN   ALADDIN. 

"  There  was  a  pause ;  then  Raymond  said,  in  a 
hoarse  voice, '  Why  do  you  question  me  thus, 
Agnes  ?  Do  you  not  love  me  ?' 

"  Agnes  looked  upon  him  with  the  same  strange 
smile  that  her  lips  had  worn  ever  since  she  had 
begun  questioning  him.  i  Poor  Raymond,'  said 
she,  '  do  you,  then,  doubt  my  love  ?  But  tell  me, 
have  you  not  with  you  that  book  of  knowledge, 
of  which  I  spoke  to  you,  containing  the  strange 
pictures  ? 

"'Yes.3 

" '  Let  me  see  it ;'  and  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Raymond  hesitated.  Agnes  fixed  her  beauti 
ful  eyes  upon  him.  '  Do  you  not  love  me,  then  V 
said  she. 

"  Raymond  thrust  his  hand  into  his  bosom,  and 
drew  from  the  pocket  of  an  inner  vest  the  little 
volume. 

"  Agnes  took  it,  and  look  curiously  at  it.  i  Ray 
mond,'  said  she, c  will  you  give  me  this  book  for 
my  own,  to  do  as  I  choose  with  it  ?' 

"Raymond  made  no  answer. 

" '  You  will  not  ?  Do  you,  then,  love  it  more 
than  me  ?'  She  stood  holding  the  book,  waiting 
for  his  reply. 

"  '  I  give  it  to  you,  Agnes,'  said  he  at  last. 

" ( And  it  is  now  mine  to  do  with  as  I  choose  f 

"<  It  is  yours.' 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  83 

" '  Give  me  the  lantern.' 

"Raymond  reached  it  to  her  wonderingly. 
She  took  it,  raised  the  slide,  opened  the  book, 
and  held  the  parchment  leaves  over  the  flame 
within.  Kaymond  gave  a  sharp  cry,  'Agnes!' 
lie  would  have  snatched  it  from  her,  but  she 
laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

" ;  Stop !'  said  she.  '  Have  you  not  all  that  man 
can  desire  in  this  world  without  this  book  ?  You 
have  given  it  to  me ;  it  is  mine,  and  I  shall  do  as 
I  choose  with  it.  You  cannot  love  it  with  all 
your  heart  and  me  also.  Which  do  you  choose  ?' 

"  She  had  held  the  book  to  the  flames  while  talk 
ing,  her  eyes  fixed  intently  upon  it  as  the  parch 
ment  leaves  blackened  and  curled  and  wrinkled. 
Raymond  groaned  and  turned  away.  The  op 
pressive  odor  of  the  burning  skin  filled  the  air, 
and  when  Agnes  cast  the  remains  of  the  volume 
into  the  pit  beneath  the  grate  of  the  furnace,  the 
wisdom  of  the  great  Geber,  the  learning  that  had 
taken  him  a  lifetime  to  accumulate,  was  nothing 
but  a  blackened  mass  of  stinking  cinders. 

"'Come,'  said  Agnes, 'let  us  leave  this  dark 
and  dismal  place,  and  go  back  yonder  into  the 
other  room.'  She  led  the  way  into  the  first 
apartment,  and  there  sat  down  upon  the  couch, 
motioning  Raymond  to  a  seat  beside  her.  *  Are 
you  happy,  Raymond  ?'  said  she. 


84  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

" c  Yes,'  he  whispered.  He  would  have  taken 
her  into  his  arms,  but  she  held  up  her  hand. 

" '  Wait,'  said  she.  '  Have  you,  then,  all  that 
you  desire  ?' 

" '  Yes,'  he  said,  in  a  trembling  voice ;  '  with 
your  love.' 

" '  Poor  Eaymond !' 

"  There  was  a  little  space  of  silence.  And  then 
at  last  she  turned  to  him  with  that  same  strange 
smile  upon  her  face.  'Do  you  know  what  my 
father  did  when  he  moved  his  hands  as  he  did 
when  you  saw  him  ?'  said  she. 

" '  No,'  said  Raymond. 

" '  He  drew  strange  pictures  before  my  eyes, 
Raymond,  and  I  saw  them  as  plainly  as  I  see  you 
now.  Would  you  like  me  to  tell  you  what  they 
were  ?' 

"  Raymond  nodded  his  head. 

" '  Then  I  shall  tell  you.  I  saw  you  and  my 
father  in  this  place  together,  and  you  had  com 
pleted  the  last  of  your  great  experiments,  and  had 
sealed  those  two  phials  as  I  saw  them  yonder. 
I  saw  you  and  my  father  quit  this  place  filled 
with  joy  that  the  last  touch  of  your  work  was 
done.  After  that  came  the  dark  blank  of  night 
and  of  sleep.  The  next  picture  he  drew  was  of 
the  morning — of  this  morning  when  he  died — 
and  I  saw  him  sleeping  upon  his  bed.  The  door 


SHE    HKLD    THK    BOOK    IN    THE   FLAMES    WHILE    TALKING, 
HER    EYES    FIXED    INTENTLY    UPON    IT." 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  $5 

opened,  and  I  saw  you  come  softly  in  and  for 
ward  to  his  bedside,  and  stand  looking  down  at 
him  as  he  slept.  Above  his  face  you  drew  strange 
characters  with  your  finger;  they  were  spells 
that  he  himself  had  taught  you.  After  that  I 
saw  you,  Raymond,  draw  a  bunch  of  keys  from 
beneath  his  pillow.  Then  I  saw  you  go  to  the 
great  iron-bound  chest  that  stood  in  the  corner. 
From  within  you  took  a  little  silver  box;  you 
did  not  open  the  lid,  but  I  saw  that  within  it  was 
a  crystal  globe  about  as  large  as  a  dove's  egg. 
I  saw  you  relock  the  chest  and  replace  the  keys 
beneath  my  father's  pillow.'  Agnes  was  looking 
into  Raymond's  face  as  she  spoke,  and  her  lips 
still  wore  that  same  faint  smile.  '  What  next  I 
saw,  Raymond,  was  this,'  said  she.  '  You  took 
from  your  pouch  a  little  wooden  box  filled  with 
a  bright  green  powder ;  then  from  the  same  pouch 
you  drew  a  long  slender  needle.  Upon  the  point 
of  the  needle  you  took  a  little  of  the  green  pow 
der.  (All  this  my  father  drew  with  his  dying 
hand  in  the  air,  Raymond.)  I  saw  you  stoop  over 
him  and  thrust  that  long  shining  needle  deep  into 
his  shoulder.  Then  you  turned  and  left  the  room; 
but  as  you  left  it,  I  saw  your  face  as  I  see  it  now, 
and  it  was  as  white  as  ashes,  as  it  is  now,  and  the 
sweat  stood  in  beads  upon  your  forehead,  as  it 
stands  there  now.  What  did  it  mean,  Ray- 


86  A    MODERN   ALADDIN. 

mond?'  Her  lips  never  lost  that  strange,  odd 
smile. 

" '  God,  I  do  not  know !'  cried  Raymond, 
hoarsely. 

"  '  It  meant  that  you  murdered  my  father,  Ray 
mond — that  you  murelered  the  man  who  taught 
you  all  that  you  now  know — that  you  murdered 
the  man  who  in  nine  months  made  of  you,  a  raw 
student,  the  most  learned  alchemist,  but  one,  in 
Europe.' 

"  There  was  a  long  pause  of  dead  silence.  '  Ag 
nes,'  cried  Raymond,  in  that  same  hoarse,  dry 
voice,  <  Agnes — I  love  you  !' 

"  The  smile  never  left  her  lips.  '  Very  good,' 
said  she ;  '  but  stay,  I  have  not  yet  done.  All 
that  my  father  had  showed  me  so  far  was  past 
and  gone ;  now  he  showed  me  what  was  to  come. 
I  saw  us  both  pass  through  that  long,  dark,  nar 
row  way ;  I  saw  the  dark,  vaulted  cellar  above 
us ;  I  saw  us  descend  and  stand  together  in  the 
farther  room  yonder  and  look  upon  those  phials ; 
I  saw  myself  burning  that  accursed  book  by  the 
light  of  the  candle  in  the  lantern ;  I  saw  us  seat 
ed  together  upon  this  couch  as  we  are  now.  What 
next  do  you  think  I  saw,  Raymond  f 

"  '  I  do  not  know.' 

"'I  saw  this!' 

"  There  was  a  movement  as  quick  as  lightning, 


HE    LEANED    OVER    AND    LOOKED    INTO    HKR 
FACE." 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  87 

a  flash,  a  blow,  a  deep  sigh.  Agnes  sat  for  a  mo 
ment  with  the  smile  still  resting  upon  her  white 
lips,  and  something  bright  glistening  upon  her 
bosom.  It  was  the  handle  of  a  dagger,  and  she 
had  stabbed  herself.  Then  she  lay  slowly  down 
upon  the  pillow  beside  her. 

"  For  one  moment  Raymond  sat  as  motionless 
as  stone ;  then  he  started  up  with  a  shrill  cry. 
He  leaned  over  and  looked  into  her  face ;  that 
smile  was  still  upon  her  white  lips. 

"'Agnes!'  he  cried;  then  again,  'Agnes!' 
But  the  smiling  lips  never  answered;  she  was 
dead. 

"  Raymond  slowly  turned,  and  walked  heavily 
and  stupidly  out  of  the  place,  closing  the  door 
behind  him.  At  the  head  of  the  shaft  he  me 
chanically  opened  the  slide  of  the  lantern,  and 
blew  out  the  half -burned  candle,  and  then  set 
the  lantern  upon  the  shelf  within,  as  he  had 
been  used  to  do.  He  closed  the  trap,  and  low 
ered  the  bar,  and  snapped  the  padlock  in  the 
staple ;  then,  again,  with  the  same  slow,  heavy 
tread,  he  left  the  vaulted  room,  ascended  the 
stone  steps,  and  threaded  the  passage-way.  He 
did  not  go  back  into  the  master's  house,  but 
passed  out  at  the  arched  gate -way  where  we, 
Oliver,  entered.  Before  he  went  out  into  the 
street  beyond  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  breast  to 


88  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

make  sure  the  silver  box  containing  the  talis 
man  was  there;  it  was  all  that  he  had  saved 
from  his  ruin." 


IV. 

"From  that  time  Eaymond  Lulli  led  a  wan 
dering,  irregular,  eventful  life.  Under  the  spur 
of  his  remorse  he  went  first  to  Rome  and  then 
to  Tunis,  where,  until  his  life  was  threatened  on 
account  of  his  efforts  to  convert  the  Mussul 
mans,  he  devoted  himself  partly  to  the  fulfilment 
of  his  original  vow,  partly  to  the  further  study 
of  alchemy.  After  that  he  lived  for  a  while  in 
Milan;  after  that  he  went  to  England,  where,  as 
I  have  heard,  he  transmuted  lead  and  quicksilver 
into  gold  to  the  amount  of  six  millions  rose  no 
bles  ;  after  that  he  returned  again  to  Home ;  and 
after  that  for  a  second  time  to  Africa,  where  he 
took  up  his  abode  at  Bona. 

"  Now  there  was  at  that  time  at  Bona  a  fa 
mous  and  learned  professor,  who  had  devoted 
himself  more  particularly  to  the  study  of  demon- 
ology.  It  is  hardly  likely  that  you  have  ever 
heard  his  name;  it  was  Yusef  Ben  Djani.  I 
know  of  nobody  since  his  time  who  approached 
him  in  his  knowledge  of  the  science  unless,  per 
haps,  it  was  the  great  Cornelius  Agrippa. 


A    MODERN   ALADDIN.  89 

"  This  learned  scholar  held  that  the  power  of 
man's  will  was  such  that,  under  certain  circum 
stances,  it  could  be  so  far  impressed  upon  those 
diffused  forces  of  life  about  us  as  to  materialize 
or  concentrate  them,  and  so  render  them  cogni 
zant  to  the  human  understanding,  or,  in  other 
words,  visible.  Now,  Oliver,  it  is  very  well 
known  that  one  man  may  so  impress  his  will 
upon  another  as  to  render  that  other  will  entire 
ly  subservient  to  his  own.  Under  such  condi 
tions,  the  one  so  impressed  sees,  feels,  smells, 
tastes,  and  senses  only  as  the  superior  will  orders ; 
he  moves,  speaks,  and  exists  as  the  other  com 
mands.  If  that  power,  Yusef  Ben  Djani  argued, 
could  impress  material  men  in  this  world,  why 
could  it  not  impress  men  in  the  world  immedi 
ately  beyond  ?  Is  not  a  man,  he  reasoned,  the 
same  man  after  quitting  this  world  as  when  he 
lived  in  the  body  ?  Why,  then,  is  he  not  as  sub 
ject  to  that  psychological  power  there  as  here, 
and  why,  then,  could  he  not  be  influenced  there 
as  well  as  here  ?  Such  an  influence  Yusef  Ben 
Djani  did  exert,  and  succeeded.  He  material 
ized  those  quiescent  forces  of  life,  and  brought 
them  into  such  communion  with  himself  that  he 
was  able  to  compel  them  to  that  certain  exuda 
tion  of  life  in  quiescence  which  we  in  this  world 
call  matter.  Do  you  understand  me,  Oliver  ?" 


90  A    MODERN   ALADDIN. 

Oliver  shook  his  head.  "  No,"  said  he,  "  I  do 
not."  He  had  tried  to  follow  the  other  so  far  as 
he  was  able,  but  he  had  long  gotten  beyond  the 
power  of  comprehension ;  the  words  fell  upon 
his  ears  one  after  the  other  like  blows,  until  his 
head  hummed  like  a  beehive. 

The  other  laughed.  "  Very  well,"  said  he. 
"  It  is  of  no  importance  that  you  should  compre 
hend  Yusef  Ben  Djani's  theory.  But  this  at 
least  you  can  understand :  he  materialized  evil 
spirits. 

"Now  there  was  a  certain  young  Venetian 
student  named  Nicholas  Jovus,  who  almost  from 
his  chilhood  had  possessed  a  wonderful  psycho 
logical  power  upon  others.  By  psychological 
power  I  mean  the  power  of  superinducing  his 
own  will  upon  the  will  of  another;  in  other 
words,  to  make  such  another  do  absolutely  as 
he  chose. 

"The  fame  of  Yusef  Ben  Djani  was  at  its 
height,  and  Nicholas  Jovus,  then  about  four-and- 
twenty  years  of  age,  determined  to  visit  the 
great  master  at  Bona.  The  philosopher  saw  in 
the  young  student  the  material  for  an  even 
greater  than  himself.  He  persuaded  him  to 
stay  in  Bona,  and  to  study  the  science  of  demon- 
ology  under  him.  It  was  while  there  that,  with 
the  assistance  of  his  master,  Nicholas  Jovus  su- 


A    MODERN   ALADDIN.  91 

perinduced  his  own  will  upon  the  surface  of  a 
mirror  to  such  an  extent  that  within  it  he  could 
at  any  time  see  that  which  he  willed  to  see.  It 
was  by  means  of  this  mirror  that  he  one  time 
beheld  Raymond  Lulli,  of  whom  he  had  often 
heard,  and,  circumstances  being  then  peculiarly 
propitious,  beheld  at  the  same  time  not  only 
Raymond  Lulli  himself,  but  the  secret  of  the  tal 
isman  that  he  carried  in  his  bosom.  And  not 
only  did  he  discover  the  existence  of  the  talis 
man,  but  (Raymond's  mind  being  at  that  mo 
ment  concentrated  upon  the  past)  he  discovered 
the  story  of  the  philosopher's  life  as  I  have  told 
it  to  you,  and  thus  first  gained  knowledge  of 
those  dark  chambers  below  the  vault.  Yes, 
Nicholas  Jovus  saw  all  this  in  the  mirror  just  as 
I  have  described  it  to  you,  Oliver;  it  was  the 
first  and  only  time,  but  he  never  forgot  it. 

"  Now  soon  after  Raymond  Lulli  had  reached 
Rome,  after  having  left  Paris,  he  was  taken  with 
a  violent  fever,  from  which  he  weakened,  his  phy 
sicians  told  him,  only  to  die.  But  the  physicians 
were  mistaken.  The  next  morning  when  they 
visited  him  he  was  sitting  at  the  table  eating 
a  boiled  capon,  as  well  a  man  as  you  or  I.  I 
need  to  hardly  tell  you  he  had  used  the  talisman 
of  life. 

"  Yet  it  was  only  with  great  hesitation,  and 


92  A    MODERN    ALADDIN. 

in  the  last  extremity,  that  Lulli  thus  rehabili 
tated  himself  with  a  new  body,  for  by  so  doing 
he  cut  himself  off  forever  from  all  chance  of  en 
tering  those  secret  chambers  again  and  recover 
ing  the  phials,  which  he  now  bitterly  regretted 
having  left  behind  him  in  the  first  throes  of  his 
grief  and  remorse.  For  Arnold  de  Yilleneuve, 
for  protection  against  evil  powers,  had  drawn 
around  the  door  of  those  underground  chambers 
a  circle  upon  which  he  had  marked  a  sign  that 
Eaymond  Lulli  could  not  pass  without  leaving 
his  newly-acquired  body  behind  him. 

"  From  the  time  that  Eaymond  Lulli  had  used 
the  talisman  of  life  to  the  time  that  Nicholas 
Jovus  saw  him  in  the  mirror,  thirty  years  had 
elapsed,  and  yet  he  appeared  as  young  as  upon 
the  day  when  the  Eoman  physicians  had  told 
him  that  he  was  to  die. 

"  Nicholas  Jovus  determined  to  gain  that  tal 
isman  for  his  own. 

"  Now  the  young  Venetian  student  had  a  curi 
ous,  odd  servant,  very  much  attached  to  him, 
and  not  so  wicked  as  one  might  have  thought 
under  the  circumstances.  Early  one  morning, 
before  the  town  was  awake,  Nicholas  Jovus,  fol 
lowed  by  this  servant,  left  the  house  of  his  mas 
ter  and  hurried  down  to  the  sea-shore.  He  had 
looked  in  his  glass  and  saw  that  Eaymond  Lulli 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  93 

was  walking  there.  He  met  the  alchemist  not 
far  from  where  a  long  quay  ran  out  into  the 
water. 

"  Since  the  time  when  he  had  first  seen  Ray 
mond  Lulli  in  the  glass,  Nicholas  Jovus  had 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  master  in  his  own 
proper  person.  Accordingly,  Raymond  stopped 
and  chatted  awhile  with  the  young  student. 
While  the  two  stood  talking  together  that  odd 
servant  of  whom  I  spoke  stepped  around  behind 
the  philosopher.  He  made  a  silent  motion  of 
inquiry,  Nicholas  Jovus  nodded  in  reply,  and  the 
next  moment  all  was  over.  The  serving -man 
had  —  had  drawn  a  bag  over  the  philosopher's 
head. 

"  Nicholas  Jovus  thrust  his  hand  into  the  phi 
losopher's  bosom,  and,  after  feeling  for  a  mo 
ment,  found  the  talisman,  which  was  enclosed  in 
a  bag  hung  around  his  neck.  He  did  not  take 
time  to  unfasten  the  cord  from  which  it  hung, 
but,  giving  it  a  jerk,  broke  the  string  with  a 
snap. 

"  As  he  did  so,  Raymond  Lulli,  who  had  been 
lying  silent  in  the  encircling  arms  of  that  strange 
servant,  gave  a  sharp,  a  loud,  and  a  bitter  cry. 

"What  followed  was  as  unlooked-for  to  Nich 
olas  Jovus  as  it  would  have  been  to  you  had  you 
been  there,  Oliver.  That  quaint  servant  of  his — 


94:  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

what  think  you  he  did  ?  He  laid  Eaymond  Lulli 
upon  the  sand  of  the  sea-shore,  and  stripped  the 
false  body  off  of  him  as  you  might  strip  off  a 
man's  coat.  The  young  student  did  not  know 
how  it  was  done,  but  done  it  was,  and  as  deftly 
and  as  cunningly  as  a  fisherman  might  draw  the 
skin  from  an  eel.  Then,  as  Nicholas  Jovus  stood 
aghast  watching  him,  he  shouldered  what  ap 
peared  to  be  the  empty  skin  of  Eaymond  Lulli, 
turned,  and  running  some  distance  out  along  the 
quay,  flung  his  burden  with  a  splash  into  the  wa 
ter.  It  sunk  like  a  stone.  The  Eaymond  Lulli 
that  was  left  behind  was  an  old  man  of  seventy- 
five  years  of  age,  bruised,  bleeding,  dying.  My 
faith,  Oliver !  It  was  a  long  time  before  Nich 
olas  Jovus  could  bear  the  presence  of  that  odd 
servant  of  his  without  a  shudder. 

"  That  is  all  concerning  the  story  of  Eaymond 
Lulli  and  those  rooms  that  you  were  in  not  long 
ago." 

THE  END  OF  THE  MASTER'S  MONOLOGUE. 


He  finished  speaking,  and  Oliver  sat  gazing 
at  him  open-mouthed.  He  was  bewildered — he 
was  stunned.  It  began  to  dawn  upon  his  stupe 
fied  wits  that  he  was  in  the  very  presence  of  and 


"  AND  STRIPPED  THK  FALSE  BODY  OFF  OF  HIM   AS 
YOU  MIGHT  STRIP  OFF  A  MAN'S  COAT." 


A  MODERN   ALADDIN.  95 

face  to  face  with  a  dreadful,  grotesque  miracle. 
"And  you,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  and  then 
stopped  short,  for  the  question  stuck  in  his 
throat. 

The  other  smiled.  "And  1 ?"  said  he.  "What 
is  it,  then,  that  you  would  ask  ?" 

"Are — are  you — are  you — Nicholas  Jovus?" 

The  other  laughed.  "What  a  droll  question!" 
said  he.  "That  thing  happened  four  hundred 
years  ago." 

Oliver's  skin  began  to  creep ;  but  then  he  was 
growing  used  to  that  feeling.  The  two  sat 
watching  one  another  for  a  little  while  in  si 
lence,  the  one  with  dull  bewilderment  of  won 
der,  the  other  smiling  oddly.  Presently  the  smile 
broke  into  a  laugh.  "You  are  very  droll,  Oli 
ver,"  said  he;  "you  would  believe  anything  that 
I  told  you.  I  have  seen  and  done  many  strange 
things  in  my  days,  but  as  for  being  four  hundred 
years  old—  Bah !  my  child,  why  all  this  that  I 
have  been  telling  you  is  only  a  story,  a  legend, 
a  tradition,  handed  down  from  one  to  another 
of  us  who  dabble  in  alchemy ;  for  I  confess  to 
being  one  of  such.  No  doubt  it  has  grown 
absurdly  as  it  has  been  transmitted  from  man 
to  man.  Nevertheless,  there  are  in  that  story 
some  strange  matters  —  one  might  almost  call 
them  coincidences  —  that  appear  to  fit  in  with 


96  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

things  that  you  have  seen,  and  which  might, 
with  an  irrational  mind  such  as  yours,  strength 
en  absurd  speculations."  He  sat  watching  Oli 
ver  smilingly  for  a  while.  "That  mirror  of 
Nicholas  Jovus's,"  said  he,  suddenly  —  "what 
would  you  say  if  I  had  it  in  my  own  possession  ? 
Nay,  what  would  you  say  if  it  were  in  this  very 
room  ?"  Oliver  looked  sharply  around,  and  again 
the  other  laughed.  "  You  need  not  be  alarmed," 
said  he ;  "  it  is  very  harmless.  But  come,  I  will 
be  perfectly  frank ;  it  is  in  this  room,  and  I  will 
show  it  to  you.  It  is  my  intention  that  we  shall 
thoroughly  understand  one  another,  and  we  must 
arrive  at  such  understanding  now.  So  under 
standing  one  another,  we  can  best  be  of  benefit 
to  each  other.  But  first  of  all,  since  we  are  in 
the  way  of  being  frank,  I  will  begin  by  making 
a  confession.  I  confess  to  you,  my  dear  child 
— yes,  I  confess  frankly  that  the  ugly  suspicions 
that  you  have  entertained  about  me  have  not 
been  entirely  without  ground.  I  confess  that  I 
had  not  intended  that  you  should  have  left  that 
place  down  yonder,  from  which  you  so  miracu 
lously  escaped.  Perhaps  this  confession  may  at 
first  shock  you,  but  I  am  sure,  when  I  explain  mat 
ters,  you  will  understand  that  I  was  not  entirely 
unjustified  in  seeking  to  destroy  you.  I  have,  I 
think  I  may  say,  very  considerable  skill  in  fore- 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  97 

telling  events  by  the  stars — not  foretelling  them 
perfectly,  of  course,  for  the  science  of  astrology  is 
not  yet  perfected,  but  looking  into  futurity  in  a 
general  way.  Nevertheless,  imperfect  as  the  sci 
ence  of  astrology  is,  my  reading  of  fate  was  clear 
enough  to  teach  me  who  and  what  you  were, 
and,  in  a  general  way,  where  you  were  to  be 
found.  That  reading  told  me  that,  unless  some 
heroic  remedy  were  devised,  the  time  drew  near 
when  you  would  be  my  ruin — "  he  stopped  sud 
denly,  his  gaze  fixed  itself  absently  above  Oliver's 
head,  and  Oliver  saw  his  face  grow  pale  and  hag 
gard,  as  if  it  saw  some  dreadful  vision ;  he  drew 
in  his  breath  between  his  shut  teeth— "  and  my 
death,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  completing  his 
speech,  and  shuddering  as  he  spoke  the  words. 
Then  he  passed  his  hand  over  his  face,  and  when 
he  drew  it  away  again  his  expression  was  as 
smiling  and  as  debonair  as  ever.  "  But  we  will 
not  speak  of  such  unpleasant  things,"  said  he. 
"  I  have  only  mentioned  them  so  far  that  you 
might  see  that  I  was  not  altogether  inexcusable 
in  seeking  to  rid  myself  of  you.  In  conclusion, 
I  Avill  say  that  about  the  time  that  I  located  with 
some  accuracy  the  particular  spot  where  you  were 
living,  I  also  discovered  that  for  which  I  had  been 
seeking  for  many  years — the  underground  cell 
in  which  was  Arnold  de  Yilleneuve's  laboratory. 
7 


98  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

This  house  is  built  upon  the  ground  whereon  his 
stood.  It  is  a  wretched  tumble-down  affair,  mean 
and  squalid,  yet  I  have  fitted  it  up  for  my  home ; 
for,  as  you  have  discovered,  it  connects  almost 
directly  with  that  underground  vault  where  the 
student  and  the  master  discovered  their  great 
secret. 

"  Unfortunately,  for  certain  reasons  that  I  need 
not  mention,  I  could  not  pass  that  circle  and  the 
sign  upon  the  wall  around  the  door-wray.  So, 
not  being  able  to  pass  it  myself,  it  was  a  great 
temptation  for  me  to  send  you  to  get  those  bot 
tles  for  me,  and  then,  in  your  destruction,  to 
seal  my  own  security.  It  was  a  great  tempta 
tion,  I  say,  and  I  yielded  to  it.  What  I  did  was 
unpleasant  to  you,  perhaps,  but  that  now  is  all 
passed  and  gone.  Let  it  be  forgotten,  and  here 
after  we  shall,  I  know,  be  great  friends.  That 
attempt  has  taught  me  a  lesson.  I  tried,  in  spite 
of  fate,  to  destroy  you,  and  failed  ;  now  I  will 
try  kindness,  and  see  if  that  will  eliminate  you 
from  my  life.  I  have  it  in  my  power  to  make 
you  the  richest  man  in  the  world — next  to  my 
self  ;  and  what  is  more,  I  will  do  so,  and  then 
we  shall  separate  forever.  As  for  me,  I  shall 
live  in  Paris,  for  there  is  no  other  place  in  the 
world  for  a  man  of  parts  like  myself.  You,  upon 
your  part,  may  live  wherever  you  choose — except 


"  HE    SAW    WITHIN    AN    OVAL    MIRROR   SET    IN    A    HEAVY 
FRAME    OP    COPPER." 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  99 

in  Paris.  You  shall  quit  Paris  forever.  Do  you 
understand  ?  — forever !  Should  you  be  so  un 
fortunate  as  to  ever  return  here,  should  you  be 
so  unhappy  as  ever  to  emerge  from  your  obscu 
rity  and  cross  my  path,  I  will  annihilate  you. 
But  before  I  annihilate  you  I  will  make  you  suf 
fer  the  torments  of  hell,  and  wish  that  you  had 
not  been  born.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

Oliver  nodded  .his  head. 

"Very  well,  then,  my  child,  we  comprehend 
one  another.  Nosv  I  will  show  you  Nicholas 
Jovus's  mirror,  which  I  told  you  was  in  my 
possession.  It  is  a  unique  curiosity  in  its 
way." 

He  rose,  and  crossing  the  room  to  what  ap 
peared  to  be  the  door  of  a  closet  or  cabinet, 
opened  it,  and.  showed  within  a  hollow  space, 
partly  hidden  by  a  curtain  of  some  heavy  black 
material.  Oliver  had  followed  him,  and  as  the 
master  drew  back  the  curtain,  he  saw  within  an 
oval  mirror,  set  in  a  heavy  frame  of  copper. 

"  Now,  Oliver,"  said  the  master,  "  what  is  it 
that  you  would  wish  to  see  ?" 

The  thought  of  the  perils  from  which  he  had 
escaped  and  the  perils  which  still  lay  before  him 
was  uppermost  in  Oliver's  mind.  "  I  should  like," 
said  he,  "  to  see  that  which  will  bring  me  the  most 
danger  in  my  life." 


100  A   MODEEN   ALADDIN. 

The  master  laughed.  "  It  is  a  wise  wish,  my 
child,"  said  he ;  "  look  and  see." 

He  stood  aside,  and  Oliver  came  forward  and 
gazed  into  the  glass.  At  first  he  saw  nothing 
but  his  own  face  reflected  clear  and  sharp  as  in 
an  ordinary  mirror ;  then  suddenly,  as  he  gazed, 
the  bright  surface  of  the  glass  clouded  over  as 
though  with  a  breath  blown  upon  it,  and  his  own 
face  faded  away  from  his  view.  The  next  mo 
ment  it  cleared  again,  and  he  saw  before  him  the 
face  and  form  of  a  young  lady,  the  most  beautiful 
he  had  ever  seen.  He  had  only  just  time  to  ob 
serve  that  she  sat  in  the  window  recess  of  what 
appeared  to  be  a  large  and  richly  "appointed  room, 
and  that  she  was  reading  a  letter.  Then  all  was 
gone — the  master  had  dropped  the  curtain  across 
the  glass. 

Oliver  put  his  fingers  to  his  forehead  and  look 
ed  about  him,  dazed  and  bewildered,  for  he  felt 
as  though  he  were  going  crazy  in  the  presence  of 
all  the  grotesque  wonders  through  which  he  was 
passing. 

The  master  also  seemed  disturbed.  He  frown 
ed  ;  he  bit  his  lips ;  he  looked  at  Oliver  from  un 
der  his  brows.  "  Who  is  the  young  lady  ?"  said 
he  at  last. 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Oliver,  faintly.  "I 
never  saw  her  before." 


A   MODEKir  ALADDiX.  101 

"  Here  is  a  new  complication,"  said  the  master. 
"One  woman  is  more  dangerous  than  a  score  of 
men."  He  brooded  for  a  moment  or  two,  and 
then  his  face  cleared  again.  "  No  matter,"  said 
he ;  "  we  will  not  go  to  meet  our  difficulties,  but 
will  wait  till  they  come  to  us.  All  the  same, 
Oliver,  take  warning  by  one  who  knows  that 
whereof  he  speaks.  Avoid  the  women  as  you 
would  a  pitfall :  they  have  been  the  ruin  of  many 
a  better  man.  Remember  that  which,  I  have  told 
you  of  Raymond  Lulli.  He  might  perhaps  have 
been  living  to-day,  the  richest  and  happiest  man 
in  the  world,  had  he  not  been  so  stupid  as  to 
love  Agnes  de  Yilleneuve." 

Oliver  made  no  reply,  but  even  while  the  other 
was  uttering  his  warning  he  had  determined  in 
his  own  mind  to  seize  the  very  first  opportunity 
of  looking  again,  and  at  his  leisure,  into  the  mir 
ror,  and  to  see  again  that  danger  which  appeared 
in  so  alluring  a  form. 


102  A  MODERN   ALADDIN. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  FIRST. — An  inn  on  the  road  to  Flourens. 

A  CALASH  has  lately  arrived,  and  the  horses 
are  now  being  baited  at  the  inn  stables.  The 
day  is  excessively  warm  and  sultry,  so  that  the 
young  gentleman  who  came  in  the  calash  is  hav 
ing  his  bread,  and  a  bottle  of  the  wine  for  which 
the  inn  is  famous,  served  to  him  under  the  great 
chestnut-tree  before  the  door.  It  is  Oliver  Mu- 
nier,  but  so  different  from  the  Oliver  that  left 
Paris  a  year  before  that  even  his  mother  would 
hardly  have  known  him.  He  is  no  longer  that 
peasant  lad  in  blouse  who  crouched,  shrunk  to 
gether,  in  the  corner  of  the  great  coach  of  the 
rich  American  uncle,  being  carried  with  thunder 
ous  rumble  to  some  hideous  and  unknown  fate 
which  he  did  not  dare  to  tell  even  to  his  own 
soul.  He  wore  a  silk  coat,  a  satin  waistcoat, 
satin  breeches,  silk  stockings,  a  laced  hat;  he 
wore  fine  cambric  cuffs  at  his  wrists,  and  a  lace 
cravat  with  a  diamond  solitaire  at  his  throat, 
and  his  manners  befitted  his  dress. 


THE    INNKEEPER   SERVED    HIM    IX    PERSOX. 


A    MODERN   ALADDIN.  103 

He  carried  with  him  a  small  and  curiously 
wrought  iron  box,  of  which  he  seemed  excessively 
careful,  keeping  it  close  beside  him,  and  every 
now  and  then  touching  it  with  his  hand,  as 
though  to  make  sure  that  it  had  not  been  spirited 
away. 

The  innkeeper,  a  merry  little  pot-bellied  rogue, 
as  round  as  a  dumpling  and  as  red  as  an  apple, 
served  him  in  person,  talking  garrulously  the 
while.  Monsieur  was  on  his  way  to  Flourens  ? 
Ah !  there  was  great  excitement  there  to-day. 
What !  Monsieur  did  not  know  ?  He  must  then 
be  a  stranger  not  to  know  that  Monseigneur  the 
Marquis  had  left  Paris,  and  was  coming  back  to 
the  chateau  to  live. 

Oliver  was  interested.  He  had  seen  mon- 
seigneur  in  Flourens  once  some  two  or  three 
years  before,  when  he  had  paid  a  flying  visit  to 
the  chateau  to  put  on  another  turn  of  the  screw, 
and  to  squeeze  all  the  money  he  could  from  the 
starving  peasants  of  the  estate,  to  pay  some  of 
his  more  hungry  and  clamorous  creditors.  All 
Flourens  had  known  that  the  marquis  was  over 
head  and  ears  in  debt,  and  now  the  little  gossip 
ing  landlord  added  the  supplement.  It  was,  he 
told  Oliver,  through  no  choice  that  Monseigneur 
the  Marquis  was  to  come  back  to  the  country 
again,  but  because  he  had  no  more  wherewith 


A   MODKRN   ALADDIN. 

to  support  his  Paris  life.  He  loathed  Flourens, 
and  he  loved  Paris ;  he  hated  the  dull  life  of  the 
country,  and  he  adored  the  gayety  of  the  city, 
its  powder,  its  patches,  its  masques,  its  court,  its 
vanity,  its  show,  and,  most  of  all,  its  intrigues 
and  its  cards.  But  all  these  cost  money,  for 
Monseigneur  the  Marquis  had  lived  like  a  prince 
of  the  blood,  and  it  had  cost  a  deal.  Ah,  yes ! 
such  little  matters  as  intrigues  and  the  cards 
cost  treasures  of  money  in  Paris,  he  had  heard 
say.  So  now  the  marquis  and  the  family  were 
coining  back  again  to  FJourens. 

By  the  time  that  the  landlord  had  half  done 
his  gossip,  Oliver  had  finished  his  bread  and 
wine ;  then,  the  horses  being  refreshed,  he  bade 
the  servant  whom  he  had  brought  down  from 
Paris  with  him  to  order  out  the  calash.  The 
landlord  would  have  assisted  Oliver  in  carrying 
his  iron  box,  but  Oliver  would  not  permit  it. 
He  commanded  him  somewhat  sharply  to  let  it 
alone,  and  he  himself  stowed  it  safely  within  the 
calash. 

His  man-servant  was  holding  the  door  open 
for  him  to  enter,  and  Oliver  already  had  his  foot 
placed  upon  the  step  ready  to  ascend,  when  the 
clatter  of  hoofs  and  the  rumble  of  a  coach  caught 
his  attention,  and  he  waited  to  see  it  pass. 

It  was  a  huge,  lumbering  affair,  as  big  as  a  small 


A   MODEKN   ALADDIN.  105 

house,  and  was  dragged  thunderously  along  by  six 
horses.  A  number  of  outriders  surrounded  it 
as  it  came  sweeping  along  amid  a  cloud  of  dust, 
in  the  midst  of  which  the  whips  of  the  postilions 
cracked  and  snapped  like  pistol-shots. 

So  Oliver  waited,  Avith  some  curiosity,  until  the 
whole  affair  had  thundered  by  along  the  road, 
with  its  crashing,  creaking,  rattling  clatter,  pre 
ceded  by  the  running  footmen  with.4 heir  long 
canes,  and  the  outriders  in  their  uniform  of 
white  and  blue.  It  was  all  gone  in  a  moment— 
a  moment  that  left  Oliver  standing  dumb  and 
rooted.  In  that  instant  of  passing  he  had  seen 
three  faces  through  the  open  windows  of  the 
coach :  the  first,  that  of  a  stout,  red-faced  man, 
thick-lipped,  sensual ;  second,  that  of  a  lady,  pale 
and  large-eyed,  once  beautiful  perhaps,  now  faded 
and  withered.  But  the  third  !  The  third  face  was 
looking  directly  at  him,  and  it  was  the  glimpse 
of  it  that  left  him  rooted,  bereft  of  motion.  It 
was  the  same  face  that  he  had  seen  that  first 
day  in  the  magic  mirror  in  the  master's  house ; 
the  face  that  he  had  seen  in  that  mirror,  and 
unknown  to  the  master,  not  once,  not  twice,  but 
scores  of  times — hundreds  of  times. 

The  landlord's  voice  brought  him  to  himself 
with  a  shock.  "  Monsieur  has  dropped  his  hand 
kerchief." 


106  A   MODEKN   ALADDIN. 

Oliver  took  the  handkerchief  mechanically 
from  his  hand,  and  as  he  entered  the  coach  like 
one  in  a  dream,  he  heard  the  landlord  say,  as 
his  servant  closed  the  door  with  a  clash, 

"That  was  Monseigneur  the  Marquis  on  his 
way  to  the  Chateau  Flourens." 


SCENE  SECOND. — The  Widow  Hunter's  house  in  Flourens. 
Not  the  poor  rude  hut  that  Oliver  had  left  her  in  when  he 
first  went  to  Paris,  but  the  Jiouse  of  the  late  Doctor  Fou- 
chette — the  best  house  in  the  town.  The  Widow  Munier  is 
discovered  sitting  at  the  window,  with  her  face  close  to  the 
glass,  looking  down  the  street  expectantly. 

Oliver  had  been  gone  a  year,  and  that  year 
had  wrought  great  changes  with  her.  All  the 
town  knew  that  a  great  fortune  had  come  to  her, 
and  she  was  no  longer  the  poor  widow  Munier, 
the  relict  of  Jean  Munier  the  tailor;  she  was 
Madame  Munier. 

After  Oliver  had  been  gone  to  Paris  a  week, 
there  came  a  letter  for  her  from  him,  and  in  the 
letter  was  money.  Every  week  after  came  such 
another  packet  with  more  and  more  money- 
enough  to  lift  her  from  poverty  to  opulence. 
She  was  no  longer  obliged  to  eat  cabbage  soup, 
or  live  in  the  poor  little  hut  on  the  road.  Just 
about  that  time  Doctor  Fouchette  died,  and,  at 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  107 

Oliver's  bidding,  she  took  the  house  for  herself. 
It  was  very  pleasant  to  her,  but  there  was  one 
thing  that  she  could  not  understand.  Her  rich 
American  brother-in-law  had  distinctly  told  her 
that  he  and  Oliver  were  to  go  to  Paris  to  choose 
a  house,  and  that  she  was  then  to  be  sent  for  to 
live  with  them.  She  had  never  been  sent  for, 
and  that  was  what  she  did  not  understand.  Yet 
the  weekly  letters  from  Paris  compensated  for 
much.  In  those  letters  Oliver  often  told  her 
that  he  and  his  uncle  were  in  business  together, 
and  were  growing  rich  at  such  a  rate  as  no  one 
had  ever  grown  rich  before.  They  were  in  the 
diamond  business,  he  said,  and  in  a  little  while  he 
hoped  to  come  home  with  more  money  than  an 
East  Indian  prince.  Then,  at  last,  a  little  while 
after  the  twelvemonth  had  gone  by,  came  a  let 
ter  saying  that  he  would  be  home  upon  the  next 
"Wednesday,  in  the  afternoon.  So  now  Madame 
Munier  was  sitting  at  the  parlor  waiting  for  that 
coming. 

A  calash  came  rattling  along  the  stony  street, 
and  as  it  passed,  the  good  people  came  to  the 
doors  and  windows  and  looked  after  it.  It  did 
not  stop  at  the  inn,  but  continued  straight  along 
until  it  came  to  the  door  of  Madame  Munier's 
house.  Then  it  drew  up  to  the  foot -way,  and 
a  servant  in  livery  sprang  to  the  ground  and 


108  A  MODERN   ALADDIN. 

opened  the  door.  A  young  gentleman  stepped 
out,  carrying  an  oblong  iron  box  by  a  handle  in 
the  lid. 

In  thirty  minutes  all  Flourens  knew  that  Oli 
ver  Munier  had  returned  home ;  in  sixty  minutes 
they  knew  he  was  as  rich  as  Croesus. 

As  Oliver  released  himself  from  his  mother's 
embrace,  he  looked  around  him.  It  was  all  very 
different  from  the  little  hut  on  the  road  that  he 
had  left  twelve  months  ago,  but  he  seemed  dis 
satisfied.  He  shook  his  head. 

"  It  will  never  do,"  said  he. 

"  What  will  never  do  ?"  said  his  mother. 

"  This  house,  this  furniture — all,"  said  Oliver, 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

His  mother  stared.  "  It  is  a  fine  house,"  said 
she,  "and  the  furniture  is  handsome.  What, 
then,  would  you  have  ?" 

"  The  house  is  small ;  it  is  narrow ;  it  is  mean," 
said  Oliver. 

His  mother  stared  wider  than  ever.  "It  is 
the  best  house  in  Flourens,"  said  she. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Oliver;  "but  it  does  not 
please  me.  It  will  serve  for  us  so  long  as  we 
remain  here,  but  I  hope  soon  to  remove  to  a 
better  place — one  more  suitable  for  people  of 
our  condition." 
"  Madame  Munier's  eyes  grew  as  round  as  tea- 


A   MODEBN   ALADDIN.  109 

cups.  She  began  to  notice  that  Oliver's  manners 
and  speech  were  very  different  from  what  they 
had  been  before  he  left  Flourens  a  year  ago. 
She  herself  had  never  used  the  barbarous  Flou- 
rennaise  patois. 

"Kemove  to  a  better  place?"  she  repeated, 
mechanically.  "  To  one  more  suitable  for  peo 
ple  of  our  condition  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Oliver.  "  I  have  in  my  mind  a 
chateau  in  Normandy  of  which  I  have  heard.  I 
think  of  buying  it." 

Madame  Munier's  wonder  had  reached  as  high 
as  it  could  soar.  She  began  to  wonder  whether 
Oliver  had  not  gone  mad. 

He  gave  her  scarcely  any  time  to  recover 
before  he  administered  another  and  a  greater 
shock. 

"Mother,"  said  he,  suddenly,  "the  family  re 
turns  to  the  chateau  to-day  ?' ' 

"  Yes,"  said  his  mother ;  "  they  passed  through 
the  town  about  a  half  an  hour  before  you  came." 

"  I  know,"  said  Oliver ;  "  I  saw  them  upon  the 
road.  There  were  two  ladies  with  monseigneur. 
Do  you  know  who  they  were  ?" 

"  One  of  them  was  thin  and  wrinkled,  with 
black  eyes  and  heavy  eyebrows  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Oliver. 

"  The  other,  a  young  girl,  rather  pretty  ?" 


HO  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

"  She  is  beautiful !"  said  Oliver. 

"  No  doubt  they  were  Madame  the  Marquise, 
and  Mademoiselle  Celeste,  the  daughter,"  said 
Madame  Munier. 

There  was  a  little  time  of  silence,  and  then 
Oliver  gave  his  mother  that  second  shock,  a 
shock  such  as  the  poor  woman  never  had  in  her 
life  before. 

"Mother,"  said  he,  "I  love  Mademoiselle  Ce 
leste." 

Madame  Munier  opened  her  eyes  and  mouth 
as  wide  as  she  was  able.  "You  what?"  she 
cried. 

"I  love  Mademoiselle  Celeste,"  said  Oliver: 
it  was  delicious  to  repeat  those  words. 

Madame  Munier  looked  slowly  all  about  her, 
as  though  she  had  dropped  from  the  moon,  and 
knew  not  as  yet  where  she  was.  "He  loves 
Mademoiselle  Celeste !"  she  repeated  to  herself. 

"  Yes,"  said  Oliver;  "I  love  her." 

"  He  loves  her !"  said  Madame  Munier,  mechan 
ically.  "  He  is  mad !" 

"Mad!"  said  Oliver.  "Why  am  I  mad?  Were 
I  a  beggar  and  she  a  princess  I  might  still  love 
her.  Were  I  now  as  I  was  twelve  months  ago, 
poor,  ignorant,  dull,  a  witless,  idle  sot,  satisfied 
to  sit  the  day  through  on  the  bench  in  front  of 
the  inn  yonder,  I  might  still  love  her !  Were  we 


MAD!'  SAID  OLIVER,  'WHY  AM  i  MAD?'" 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  Ill 

living  in  poverty  as  we  were  then — you  and  I — 
dwelling  in  that  little  stone  hut,  feeding  upon 
stewed  cabbage  and  onions,  I  might  still  love 
Celeste  de  Flourens !  Love,"  cried  Oliver — "  love 
is  universal ;  it  is  limitless ;  it  is  the  right  of 
every  man,  and  no  one  can  take  it  from  him !" 

Madame  Munier  listened ;  she  thought  that 
she  had  never  heard  any  one  talk  so  beautifully 
as  Oliver.  It  put  the  matter  in  a  new  light. 

"  But  I  am  no  longer  as  I  was  then,", continued 
Oliver.  "  I  have  seen  much ;  I  have  passed 
through  much ;  I  have  lived  in  Paris.  But  all 
would  be  of  no  importance  were  it  not  for  another 
thing.  Listen,  mother!  We  are  rich,  you  and  I. 
We  are  the  richest  people  in  France — excepting 
one  other;  yes,  the  richest  people  in  France! 
You  think  me  crazy  to  love  Celeste  de  Flourens ! 
I  tell  you,  I  swear  to  you,  I  could  to-morrow 
buy  Flourens  from  one  end  to  the  other — the 
town,  the  chateau,  and  all.  You  do  not  believe 
me  ?  Yery  well,  you  shall  see  !  But  as  for  this 
love  of  mine,  it  is  not  so  hopeless  nor  so  mad 
as  you  think.  To-morrow  you  shall  go  in  my 
coach,  with  my  servant  Henri,  down  to  the  cha 
teau  yonder." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  interrupted 
Madame  Munier,  sharply. 

Oliver  only  smiled;  he  did  not  answer.     A 


112  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

habit  he  had  caught  from  his  master  during  the 
last  year  was  to  contradict  nobody.  "  To-mor 
row  you  shall  go  down  to  the  chateau  in  my 
coach,  with  my  servant  Henri,  and  then  you 
shall  see  how  complaisant  the  marquis  will  be." 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Madame 
Munier  again.  "  I  will  not  go  down  to  the  cha 
teau." 

Still  Oliver  did  not  seem  to  hear  her.  Going 
to  the  table,  he  chose  a  key,  and  unlocking  the 
iron  box,  brought  forth  from  it  a  curious  old 
silver  snuffbox,  handsomely  chased  and  enam 
elled  with  figures  and  flowers.  "Do  you  see 
this  box?"  said  he,  holding  it  up  between  his 
thumb  and  finger. 

"  Yes,"  said  Madame  Munier,  "  I  see  it ;  but  I 
will  not  go  to  the  chateau." 

"It  is  only  a  snuffbox,"  said  Oliver.  "It  is 
a  small  thing ;  but  what  then  ?  Within  it  is  a 
charm — a  key  with  which  I  hope  to  unlock  the 
portals  of  a  new  world  to  us.  It  shall  give  us 
the  entree  to  the  chateau." 

"  I  shall  not  go  to  the  chateau,"  said  Madame 
Munier. 

"  Also,"  said  Oliver,  "  I  will  give  you  a  letter, 
which  you  will  present,  together  with  this  snuff 
box,  to  the  marquis ;  and  I  shall  sign  the  letter 
Oliver  de  Monniere." 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  113 

"But  that  is  not  your  name,"  said  Madame 
Munier. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Oliver ;  "  but  it  shall  here 
after  be  our  name — yours  and  mine — De  Mon- 
niere.  Eemember  it,  mother — De  Monniere." 

"But  what,  then,  is  in  the  snuffbox?"  said 
Oliver's  mother. 

"  I  will  show  you,"  said  Oliver,  and  he  opened 
the  lid. 

"Bah!"  said  his  mother;  "and  is  .that  all? 
Do  you  think  that  Monseigneur  the  Marquis 
will  care  for  that  thing?" 

Oliver  smiled.  "  Yes,"  said  he,  "  he  will  care 
for  this  thing." 

Oliver's  mother  had  nearly  forgotten  herself. 
"  I  will  not  go  to  the  chateau,"  said  she. 


SCENE  THIRD. — The  marquis's  apartments  at  the  chateau. 

It  is  the  next  day  after  the  marquis  has  re 
turned  to  the  Chateau  de  Flourens.  It  is  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  marquis  is  dis 
covered  still  in  bed.  His  valet,  August,  an  in 
comparable  fellow,  has  been  in  and  out  a  dozen 
times ;  has  smoothed  the  marquis's  clothes  ;  has 
rearranged  a  freshly-powdered  wig  that  hung 
as  white  as  snow  upon  the  block;  has  moved  a 

8 


114  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

chair  here  and -a  table  there.  But  the  Marquis 
de  Flourens  has  paid  no  attention  to  him.  He  is 
reading  the  latest  effusion  of  the  immortal  Jean 
Jacques ;  for  one  must  keep  up  with  the  world, 
even  if  one  is  compelled  to  live  in  Flourens ; 
moreover,  as  he  often  observes,  a  book  suffices 
somewhat  to  relieve  the  ennui. 

The  Marquis  de  Flourens  looks  very  droll. 
He  is  clad  in  a  loose  dressing -robe  of  figured 
cloth,  and  lies  in  bed  reading  his  book,  with  a 
chocolate-pot  and  a  delicate  cup,  with  the  brown 
dregs  at  the  bottom,  upon  a  light  table  stand 
ing  at  the  bedside.  His  knees  are  drawn  up 
into  a  little  white  mountain,  the  lace  pillows  are 
tucked  in  billowy  masses  behind  him,  and  his 
nightcap  is  pushed  a  little  to  one  side,  giving  a 
glimpse  of  his  shining,  newly-shaven  head ;  his 
round  face,  in  contrast  with  the  white  pillows 
behind,  as  red  as  a  newly-risen  sun. 

The  valet  again  enters  the  room,  but  this  time 
with  an  object.  He  bears  upon  a  silver  tray  a 
three-cornered  billet  and  a  snuffbox.  The  mar 
quis  lingeringly  finishes  the  sentence  he  is  read 
ing,  and  then  lays  the  book  face  down  upon  the 
bed  beside  him.  "What  is  it  you  would  have, 
August  ?"  said  he. 

"  A  lady,  monseigneur,  has  just  now  stopped 
at  the  door  in  a  coach." 


"HE    IS    CLAD    IN    A    LOOSE   DRESSING-ROBE    OF    FIGURED    CLOTH, 
AND    LIES    IN    BED    READING    HIS    BOOK." 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  115 

The  marquis  sat  up  as  though,  moved  by  a 
spring.  "  A  lady  ?"  he  cried.  "  Young,  beautiful  ?" 

"  No,"  said  August,  seriously ;  "  old,  fat." 

The  marquis  lay  back  upon  the  pillows  again. 
"What  is  it  that  you  have  brought,  August?" 
said  he,  languidly.  August  presented  the  waiter. 
"  Oh !"  said  the  marquis.  "  A  letter ;  and  what 
is  that — a  snuffbox  ?"  He  reached  out  and  took 
Oliver's  three-cornered  billet  from  the  waiter. 
"  This  is  not  a  woman's  handwriting,"  said  he ; 
"  it  is  the  handwriting  of  a  man." 

August  said  nothing,  and  the  marquis  opened 
the  letter.  It  ran  as  follows : 

"MONSEIGNEUR, — Having  heard,  monseigneur, 
that  you  have  been  interested  in  collecting  odd 
and  unique  objects  of  curiosity  and  virtu,  I  have 
taken  the  great  liberty  of  sending  by  maclame 
my  mother  this  insignificent  trifle,  which  I  hope, 
monseigneur,  you  will  condescend  to  accept. 

"  OLIVER  DE  MONNIERE." 

"M — m — m!  What  is  it  the  fool  is  writing 
about  ?  Curios  ?  I  making  a  collection  of  curios  ? 
I  never  collected  anything  in  my  life  but  debts. 
The  man  is  crazy !  Does  he  think  that  I  am  a 
snuffy  collector  of  stuffy  curios  ?  Let  me  see  the 
snuffbox,  August." 


116  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

The  incomparable  valet  presented  the  waiter. 

The  marquis  took  the  snuffbox  in  his  hand 
and  looked  at  it.  "  It  is  handsome,"  said  he ; 
"  it  is  curious.  It  is  solid  silver,  and  is  worth- 
lie  weighed  it  in  his  hand  —  "a  hundred  livres, 
perhaps."  He  pressed  the  spring  and  opened  the 
box  as  he  spoke.  It  was  full  of  cotton.  Some 
thing  dropped  from  it  upon  the  coverlet.  The 
marquis  picked  it  up.  It  was  a  diamond  of  ex 
cessive  brilliancy,  almost  as  large  as  a  bean. 

The  incomparable  August  was  busied  in  re 
moving  the  chocolate-pot  and  the  empty  cup,  but 
presently  observing  the  silence,  he  looked  around. 
The  marquis  was  holding  something  between  his 
thumb  and  forefinger,  and  his  eyes  were  as  big 
as  teacups.  His  face  was  a  sight  to  see.  August 
was  startled  out  of  his  composure.  He  hastily 
set  the  waiter  with  the  china  upon  the  window- 
seat,  and  hurried  to  the  bedside. 

"  What  is  it,  monseigneur  ?"  said  he. 

His  voice  roused  the  marquis. 

""Where  is  the  lady  who  came  in  the  carriage?*' 
he  cried,  excitedly.  "  Eun,  stop  her !"  He  flung 
the  bedclothes  off  himself  and  jumped  with  one 
bound  out  upon  the  floor. 

Once  again  August  was  startled  out  of  his 
decorum.  "Monseigneur!"  Then,  recovering 
himself  again :  "  The  lady,  monseigneur,  is  gone." 


A   MODERN    ALADDIN.  117 

The  gardener,  working  upon  the  terrace  below, 
heard  the  rattle  of  a  window  flung  violently  open, 
and,  upon  looking  up,  was  very  much  surprised 
to  behold  Monseigneur  the  Marquis,  still  clad  in 
his  colored  dressing-gown,  and  with  his  nightcap 
thrust  tipsily  over  one  side  of  his  head.  So  the 
marquis  stood  looking  out  of  the  window  staring 
into  space,  for  he  had  no  more  idea  who  it  was 
that  had  stopped  at  the  door  and  had  left  him 
a  diamond  worth  twenty- five  thousand  livres 
than  if  he  had  never  been  born.  "Ha !"  thought 
he ;  "  the  letter ;  it  was  signed  Oliver  de  Mon- 
niere."  Thereupon  he  drew  his  head  in  and  shut 
the  window  again. 


SCENE  FOURTH. — The  parlor  of  the  house  in  Flourens. 

Oliver's  mother  has  returned  some  little  time 
from  the  chateau,  and  Oliver  and  she  are  talking 
it  over  between  them. 

"  The  marquis  will  visit  us,"  said  Oliver,  "  with 
in  an  hour." 

"He  will  do  no  such  thing,"  said  Oliver's 
mother ;  "  he  will  not  come  at  all." 

"  He  will,"  said  Oliver,  taking  out  his  brand- 
new  watch  from  his  breeches  pocket  and  looking 
at  it — "  he  will  be  here  within  a  half  an  hour." 


118  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

Oliver's  mother  sniffed  incredulously.  Oliver 
arose  from  the  sofa  where  he  was  sitting  and 
went  to  the  window,  and  there  stood  drumming 
upon  the  sill,  looking  out  into  the  street.  Sud 
denly  he  drew  back.  The  rumble  of  a  coach  was 
heard;  it  stopped  before  the  house.  A  servant 
opened  the  coach  door,  and  monseigneur  himself 
stepped  out. 

He  had  driven  over  from  the  chateau,  and  had 
stopped  at  the  inn.  Pierre  was  standing  at  the 
door-way  when  the  marquis  leaned  out  from  the 
window  and  beckoned — yes,  actually  beckoned 
to  him.  Pierre  was  so  surprised  that  he  took  off 
not  only  his  hat,  but  his  wig  also,  and  stood  there 
bowing  in  the  sun,  with  his  head  glistening  like 
a  billiard-ball. 

"  Do  you  know,  innkeeper,  of  one  Monsieur  de 
Monniere  who  lives  in  this  neighborhood  ?" 

"Monsieur  de  Monniere?"  repeated  Pierre, 
blankly. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  marquis,  impatiently.  "  De 
Monniere  —  Monsieur  de  Monniere.  Do  you 
know  where  Monsieur  de  Monniere  lives  ?" 

"  Monsieur  de  Monniere,"  repeated  Pierre,  stu 
pidly  ;  he  did  not  recognize  the  name. 

The  landlady  stood  in.  the  door  of  the  inn  be 
hind  :  woman  are  quicker  of  wit  than  men. 
"  Monseigneur  means  Monsieur  Oliver,"  said  she. 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  119 

The  marquis  overheard.    "  Yes,'5  exclaimed  he. 
"Monsieur  Oliver  —  Monsieur  Oliver  de   Mon- 


"Oh,  Monsieur  Oliver!"  cried  Pierre.  "  Oh 
yes,  I  know  him  as  well  as  I  know  myself.  He 
and  his  respected  mother  are  now  living  up  there 
on  the  hill.  You  can,  monseigneur,  see  the  house 
with  your  own  eyes.  It  is  that  one  with  the 
white  wall  to  the  side,  and  with  the  apple  and 
pear  trees  showing  over  the  top.  The  rich  Dr. 
Fouchette  used  to  live  there.  It  is,  monseigneur, 
the  finest  house  in  Flourens.  Monsieur  Oliver 
indeed !  That  is  good !  I  have  known  Monsieur 
Oliver  ever  since — ' 

But  the  coach  was  gone ;  the  marquis  had 
called  out  to  the  driver,  had  pulled  up  the  win 
dow  with  a  click,  and  now  the  coach  was  gone. 
Pierre  stared  after  it  for  a  while,  and  then  he 
put  on  first  his  wig  and  then  his  hat,  and  went 
into  the  house  again. 

So  Oliver  drew  back  from  the  window  and 
turned  around.  "  You  see,  mother,"  said  he, 
"  monseigneur  comes,  as  I  asserted  he  would." 

Oliver's  mother  was  in  a  tremendous  flutter. 
"  And  to  think,"  said  she,  "  of  his  coming  all  the 
way  from  the  chateau  just  because  of  a  little 
piece  of  cut-glass !" 

Oliver  laughed.    "  That  little  piece  of  cut-glass 


120  A    MODERN    ALADDIN. 

was  worth  having,"  said  he.  "  You  do  not  yet 
know  the  value  of  little  pieces  of  cut-glass  like 
that,  my  mother." 

Madame  Munier  did  not  listen  to  what  Oliver 
was  saying.  "And  to  think,"  said  she,  " of  ^Eon- 
seigneur  the  Marquis  visiting  me,  the  Widow 
Munier !" 

"  You  forget,  mother,"  said  Oliver.  "  You  are 
no  longer  Widow  Munier,  you  are  Madame  de 
Monniere." 

Henri  opened  the  door.  "The  Marquis  de 
Flourens,"  he  announced;  and  the  marquis  en 
tered  the  room  with  his  feathered  hat  and  his 
clouded  cane  in  his  hand. 

"  This  is  Monsieur  Oliver  de  Monniere  ?"  said 
he. 

Oliver  bowed. 

"  And  this  lady?" 

"  Permit  me,"  said  Oliver ;  "  my  mother." 

Madame  de  Monniere  courtesied  so  low  that 
she  nearly  sat  down  upon  the  floor.  She  was 
profoundly  agitated;  she  was  frightened;  she 
would  rather  ba  somewhere  else.  She  was 
pleased.  Yes,  it  was  delicious  having  a  marquis 
visit  one  in  one's  own  house. 

"  And  you,  madame,"  said  the  marquis,  "  if  I 
may  be  permitted  to  ask,  did  me  the  honor  of 
calling  upon  me  this  morning?" 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  121 

Madame  de  Monniere  nodded.  She  was  em 
barrassed  at  the  thought  of  what  she  had  done ; 
she  could  not  speak.  Oliver  spoke  for  her. 

"  She  obliged  me,"  said  he,  "  by  executing  a 
little  commission  for  me.  Pardon  me,  monseign- 
eur,  that,  knowing  your  interest  as  a  collector, 
I  took  the  liberty  of  sending  a  small  specimen  to 
you.  I  have  your  forgiveness?" 

"  Forgiveness !"  exclaimed  the  marquis.  "  You 
ask  me  to  forgive  you  ?  My  dear  child,  I  cannot 
accept  such  a  gift.  It  is  too  great !" 

"  I)o  not  speak  so,"  said  Oliver.  "  It  is  noth 
ing — a  trifle." 

"  Nothing !"  cried  the  marquis ;  "  a  trifle !  It 
is  worth  twenty-five  thousand  livres." 

"What  then?"  said  Oliver.  "I  have  many 
others.  You  embarrass  me  by  making  so  much 
of  such  a  little  thing.  Let  me  beg  that  you  will 
not  refuse  to  accept  of  this  trifle — as  a  connois 
seur — as  a  collector  of  curios— 

"Ah!"  said  the  marquis,  "there  you  touch  me 
— as  a  connoisseur — as  a  collector.  Well,  then,  I 
accept  it.  But  you — you  say  you  have  many 
others  like  this  ?  —  you  are  also  a  connois 
seur?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Oliver.  "  I  have  been  indulging 
a  very  considerable  taste  in  that  direction  for 
the  past  year.  I  think  I  may  say  now  that  I 


122  A   MODEKN   ALADDIN. 

have  as  fine  a  collection  of  diamonds  as  any  in 
Europe." 

"Would  that  I  might  be  permitted  to  see 
them !"  said  the  marquis. 

"You  shall,"  said  Oliver;  "at  least  some  of 
them.  I  can  show  you  but  a  few  at  present.  If 
you  will  pardon  me  for  a  moment,  I  will  go  and 
bring  them." 

He  was  gone,  and  Madame  de  Monniere  and 
Monseigneur  the  Marquis  were  left  alone  to 
gether.  For  all  this  while  the  poor  woman  had 
been  sitting  dazed  and  bewildered.  The  words 
that  had  fallen  upon  her  ears  had  overwhelmed 
her.  That  bit  of  glass— that  little  bit  of  cut- 
glass—was  worth  twenty-five  thousand  livres! 
Twenty-five  thousand  livres!  Monseigneur  the 
Marquis  himself  had  said  so !  Twenty-five  thou 
sand  livres !  and  Oliver  had  given  it  to  the  mar 
quis  as  a  trifle !  Twenty-five  thousand  livres !  and 
she  with  her  own  ears  had  heard  Oliver  say  that 
he  had  many  more  bits  of  glass  like  it !  Yes,  he 
had  gone  this  very  moment  to  bring  them  there 
and  show  them  to  the  marquis.  Twenty -five 
thousand  livres !  Was  she  dreaming  or  was  she 
waking?  Twenty -five  thousand  livres!  She 
was  amazed ;  she  was  bewildered ;  she  was  stu 
pefied.  In  the  midst  of  all,  the  marquis  turned 
to  her. 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  123 

"  And  you,  madame,"  said  he,  "  why  did  you 
not  wait  this  morning,  and  let  me  at  least  thank 
you  for  this  magnificent  gift  ?" 

Madame  de  Monniere's  head  wras  spinning. 
"  Twenty-five  thousand  livres !"  said  she. 

"Ah,  I  see,"  said  the  marquis.  "You  are 
embarrassed  at  the  considerableness  of  it.  It 
is,  indeed,  from  one  point  of  view,  a  treasure ; 
but  we  connoisseurs,  madame,  we  collectors,  we 
frequently  exchange  these  little  precious  curiosi 
ties.  It  is  our  habit." 

Madame  de  Monniere  rose  for  a  moment  to 
the  surface  of  her  bewilderment.  "Yes,"  said 
she ;  "  that  is  true ;"  and  thereupon  sank  again 
into  the  gulf.  "Twenty-five  thousand  livres!" 
she  murmured  to  herself. 

Just  then  Oliver  returned.  In  his  hand  he 
carried  a  small  box  of  curiously-wTrought  iron. 
Unlocking  it,  he  raised  the  lid,  removed  a  layer 
of  cotton,  and  then,  tilting  it,  emptied  upon  the 
table  a  handful  of  diamonds,  that  fell  flashing 
and  sparkling  like  broken  fragments  of  sunlight. 
One  or  two  of  the  gems  rolled  across  the  table 
and  fell  hopping  to  the  floor,  but  Oliver  did  not 
appear  to  notice  them.  There  was  a  pause  of 
blank  and  utter  silence.  Madame  de  Monniere 
herself  could  not  have  been  more  amazed  at  the 
sight  she  beheld  than  was  the  Marquis  de  Flou- 


124:  A   MODERN    ALADDIN. 

rens.  Oliver  spread  out  the  gems  upon  the  table 
with  his  hand,  as  though  they  were  so  many  glass 
beads. 

It  was  the  marquis  who,  broke  the  silence. 
"  Mon  Dieu !"  he  whispered  at  last,  and  fetched 
a  breath  so  deep  that  it  seemed  to  come  from 
the  pit  of  his  stomach.  Then  he  roused  himself. 
"  You  have  dropped  some  upon  the  floor,"  said 
he.  "  I  saw  them  fall."  And  he  would  have 
stooped  to  find  them. 

Oliver  smiled.  "  It  is  of  no  importance,"  said 
he.  "  Henri  will  find  them  by-and-by." 

For  a  while  the  marquis  examined  the  stones 
in  silence,  picking  out  some  of  the  larger  gems, 
and  scrutinizing  them  closely  and  critically,  one 
after  another.  "  It  is  a  most  magnificent  collec 
tion,  my  young  friend,"  said  he  at  last.  "  I  never 
saw  a  finer  lot  of  diamonds  in  my  life,  excepting 
the  King's." 

"  Oh,  these  are  but  a  few,"  said  Oliver.  "  I 
am  sorry  that  I  have  not  some  of  my  larger  and 
finer  stones  to  show  you." 

"Only  a  few?"  repeated  the  marquis.  "And 
how  much,  then,  do  you  suppose  that  this  collec 
tion  of  diamonds  is  worth  ?" 

"  That  would  be  hard  to  tell,"  said  Oliver,  smil 
ing.  "  But  perhaps  not  more  than  half  a  million 
livres.  None  of  the  stones  are  very  large  or  fine." 


OLITKR   SPREAD    OUT    THE    GEMS    UPON    THE    TABLE    WITH 
HIS    HAND." 


A  MODERN   ALADDIN.  125 

"  Not  large  2  Not  fine  ?"  cried  the  marquis, 
and  he  picked  out  a  diamond  from  among  the 
rest.  "  What,  then,  do  you  call  this  ?" 

"  It  is  off  color,"  said  Oliver. 

"  It  is  a  treasure  that  a  king  might  covet !" 
cried  the  marquis,  enthusiastically. 

Oliver  laughed.  "You  admire  it?"  said  he. 
"  Then  do  me  the  favor  to  accept  it." 

The  marquis  rose  to  his  feet.  "  Oh,"  he  cried, 
"  this  is  too  much  !  I  do  not  dare."  . 

"  You  pain  me  by  refusing,"  said  Oliver.  "  As 
a  connoisseur,  monseigneur,  as  a  collector — " 

"  Ah !"  said  the  marquis,  "  there  you  touch  me 
again.  As  a  collector — well,  then,  I  accept  it," 
and  he  slipped  it  into  his  waistcoat  pocket. 
"  Embrace  me,  Oliver !" 

Oliver's  mother  was  long  past  wondering  at 
anything,  or  else  she  might  have  thought  it  a 
little  strange  to  see  Oliver — Oliver,  the  son  of 
Jean  Munier,  the  tailor — clasped  in  the  arms  of 
Monseigneur  the  Marquis  of  Flourens. 

The  marquis  released  Oliver  from  his  embrace 
and  sat  down  again.  "But  tell  me,"  said  he, 
"  you  and  madame,  you  then  live  here  2" 

He  looked  around,  and  Oliver's  eyes  followed 
his.  It  certainly  was  a  poor  house  for  one  who 
could  empty  half  a  million  livres'  worth  of  dia 
monds  upon  a  table. 


126  A   MODEKN   ALADDIN. 

"For  the  present,"  said  Oliver,  "yes.  "We 
have  been  very  poor,  my  mother  and  I."  He 
paused.  The  marquis's  eyes  were  resting  intently 
upon  him,  and  he  felt  that  the  other  waited  for 
further  explanation.  He  had  already  arranged 
a  story,  but  now  that  the  time  had  come  to  tell 
it,  his  courage  almost  failed.  "  My  uncle,"  said 
he  at  last,  "came  back  from  America  about  a 
year  ago,  and  found  us  very  poor — my  mother 
and  me.  He  was  rich."  Again  he  paused  for  a 
moment,  and  then  continued:  "He  came  from 
Brazil,  where  he  was  the  owner  of  a  diamond 
mine." 

"But  this  uncle  of  yours,"  said  the  marquis, 
"  where  is  he  now  ?" 

"  He  is  dead,"  said  Oliver,    "  He  is  in  heaven." 

Oliver's  mother  heard  what  he  said  through 
all  the  buzzing  of  the  thoughts  in  her  head. 
"  So,  then,"  thought  she  to  herself,  "  my  brother- 
in-law  is  dead,  is  he  ?" 

"  And  you  ?"  said  the  marquis. 

"  I  ?"  said  Oliver.  "  I  have  inherited  his  fort 
une.  It  is  all  in  diamonds." 

Madame  Munier  pricked  up  her  ears.  She 
was  growing  interested.  Her  Oliver,  then,  had 
inherited  a  fortune. 

"And  your  uncle's  name — what  was  it?"  said 
the  marquis. 


A   MODEKN   ALADDIN.  127 

"His  name?"  said  Oliver.  "His  name  was 
Henri,  the  Chevalier  de  Monniere-Croix," 

"The  devil!"  whispered  Oliver's  mother  to 
herself.  "  I  did  not  know  that  we  were  so  well 
connected."  She  was  past  being  surprised  at 
anything  now. 

"  De  Monniere-Croix  ?"  repeated  the  marquis. 
"  De  Monniere-Croix  ?  The  name  is  not  familiar." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Oliver.  "  My  uncle  was 
very  young — a  mere  child — when  he  went  to 
America,  and  for  the  twelve  months  past  since 
his  return  to  France  he  and  I  have  been  living 
quietly  together  in  Paris,  where  he  was  engaged 
in  settling  his  affairs." 

The  marquis  was  looking  steadily  at  him.  "  Is 
your  family  of  long  descent  ?"  said  he. 

"Not  very;  as  I  said,  my  father  was  very 
poor;  you  know,  monseigneur,  how  sadly  poor 
people  of  good  family  may  be  in  the  country — " 
He  hesitated,  and  then  stopped. 

"  But,"  said  the  marquis,  presently,  "  you  say 
your  uncle  is  dead.  Had  he,  then,  no  other  heirs 
than  you  ?  Had  he  no  children  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Oliver. 

"And  you  inherit  all — all  his  wealth  ?" 

"All." 

"  It  is  then  considerable  ?" 

"  It  is  one  of  the  greatest  fortunes  in  France." 


128  A   MODEEN   ALADDIN. 

"  Can  you  prove  that  to  me  ?" 

« I  can." 

"  Embrace  me,  my  dear  child !" 

As  the  marquis  rode  back  again  to  the  chateau 
he  sat  in  the  corner  of  the  coach,  meditating 
deeply  over  all  that  he  had  seen  and  heard. 
"  The  Chevalier  de  Monniere-Croix,"  he  muttered 
to  himself — "the  Chevalier  de  Monniere-Croix." 
Then  he  suddenly  aroused  himself  from  his  med 
itations,  thrust  his  thumb  and  finger  into  his 
waistcoast  pocket,  and  drew  out  the  diamond 
that  Oliver  had  given  him.  He  held  it  in  a  dozen 
different  lights,  examining  it  keenly  and  critically. 
Finally  he  thrust  it  back  again  into  the  pocket 
whence  he  had  taken  it.  "At  least,"  said  he, 
"  his  diamonds  are  real  Why,  then,  should  he 
not  be  of  noble  family  if  he  chooses?  A  half 
a  million  livres'  worth  of  diamonds,  and  that,  as 
he  tells  me,  only  a  small  part  of  his  wealth ! 
Yery  well,  then,  his  uncle  was  a  chevalier  and 
he  is  a  prince — the  Prince  de  Golconda,  if  he 
chooses." 

Oliver  stood  for  a  long  while  looking  out  of 
the  window  after  the  marquis's  coach  had  driven 
away.  He  felt  very  uneasy ;  he  wished  that  he 
had  not  told  those  lies;  they  frightened  him. 
He  felt  as  if  he  could  see  them  already  flying 
home  again  to  roost.  But  he  need  not  have  been 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  129 

afraid.  And  then,  besides,  if  there  was  a  cloud, 
it  had  had  a  silver  edge :  the  last  words  that  the 
marquis  had  uttered  had  been :  "  My  dear  Oliver, 
let  me  hope  that  we  may  soon  see  you  at  the 
chateau — you  and  your  mother"  (that  was  an 
after-thought),  "for  my  daughter  Celeste  will 
find  it  very  stupid  with  no  young  people  about. 
I  shall  not,  however,  be  able  to  show  you  my 
collection  of  diamonds,  unfortunately;  they  are 
at  present — ahem ! — in  Paris." 


SCENE  FIFTH. — A  garden  at  tlie  Chateau  de  Flour  ens. 

A  garden  such  as  "VVatteau  loved  to  paint- 
bosky  trees,  little  stretches  of  grassy  lawn,  white 
statues  of  nymphs  and  fauns  peering  from  among 
the  green  leaves,  a  statue  of  a  naiad  pouring  wa 
ter  from  a  marble  urn,  green  with  moss,  into  a 
marble  basin,  green  with  moss. 

In  front  of  all,  the  smooth  river,  dusked  and 
dappled  now  and  then  by  little  breezes  that 
slowly  sway  the  tops  of  the  tall  poplar-trees. 
The  little  birds  sing,  and  patches  of  sunlight  and 
shadow  flicker  upon  the  grass. 

Enter  Oliver  and  Mademoiselle  Celeste.  She 
carries  a  pink  parasol  that  makes  her  face  glow 
like  a  rose  leaf,  and  Oliver  walks  by  her  side. 


130  A    MODEEN    ALADDIN. 

That  morning  Oliver  had  paid  his  first  visit  to 
the  chateau.  His  master  had  trained  him  well 
in  the  ways  of  the  world  during  the  twelvemonth 
he  had  lived  with  him  in  Paris ;  nevertheless,  he 
came  to  the  chateau  quivering  with  trepidation. 
But  now  the  trepidation  had  passed  and  gone, 
and  it  was  all  like  the  bewildering  glamour  of 
some  strange  dream — the  presence  of  his  love  no 
longer  dumbly  reflected  from  the  smooth,  pas 
sionless  mirror,  but  in  warm  living  flesh  and 
blood,  breathing  and  articulate.  She  spoke ;  she 
smiled;  it  was  divine.  A  little  wind  blew  a 
gauze  of  hair  across  her  soft  cheek  now  and 
then  as  they  walked  together ;  her  sleeve  brushed 
against  Oliver's  arm,  and  Oliver's  heart  quivered 
and  thrilled. 

That  night  was  to  him  but  a  succession  of 
dreams,  coming  one  after  another  like  a  continu 
ous  panorama,  only  each  separate  picture  centred 
in  one  figure,  and  Oliver  himself  walked  along 
beside  her,  and  told  her  that  he  loved  her.  It 
was  a  deliciously  restless  night. 

After  Oliver  had  gone  home,  the  marquis  lin 
gered  for  a  moment  or  two  in  madame's  apart 
ment,  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fireplace 
listening  while  she  talked  to  him. 

"I  do  not  like  him,"  said  she;  "he  is  ostenta 
tious.  Who  ever  heard  of  wearing:  diamond  knee 


ESTER   OLIVER    AND    MADEMOISELLK    CELESTE." 


•  A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  131 

and  shoe  buckles  in  the  country  ?  The  solitaire 
pin  in  his  cravat  was  enormous." 

"It  was  a  magnificent  diamond,"  said  the 
marquis. 

"  He  is  an  adventurer,"  replied  the  marquise. 

The  marquis  felt  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and 
brought  out  the  two  diamonds  that  Oliver  had 
given  him.  He  held  them  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand  under  the  nose  of  the  marquise.  "  Bah !" 
said  he ;  "  you  talk  like  a  fool,  Matilde.  Do  ad 
venturers,  then,  give  away  seventy -five  thousand 
livres'  worth  of  diamonds  as  though  they  were 
chestnuts  ?  Did  you  ever  hear  of  an  adventurer 
who  carried  around  a  half  a  million  livres'  worth 
of  diamonds  in  a  little  box  ?  No ;  he  may  not 
be  an  aristocrat,  but  he  is  certainly  an  Aladdin." 

So  Oliver  was  made  welcome  at  the  chateau 
whenever  he  chose  to  come.  By  the  time  that  a 
month  had  passed,  he  had  grown  into  a  certain 
intimacy.  They  all  liked  him;  even  madame 
had  condoned  his  diamonds  and  liked  him.  Then 
one  morning  the  marquis  received  an  astounding 
letter  from  his  protege. 

"  Monseigneur,"  it  said, "  I  recognize  in  you  a 
true  and  kind  friend,  a  man  of  the  world  upon 
whom  I  can  depend."  (Oliver's  master  in  Paris 
had  done  wonders  for  him ;  he  really  wrote  very 
well.)  "I  am,  monseigneur,  troubled  and  bar- 


132  A    MODERN    ALADDIN. 

assecl.  I  am  young  and  without  experience.  I 
now  have  with  me  here  my  whole  fortune,  which 
consists  entirely  of  diamonds — the  gleaning  of 
years  from  my  American  uncle's  mines  in  Brazil. 
I  do  not  think  that  I  overestimate,  monseigneur, 
in  saying  that  that  fortune  is  worth—  (I  will 
not  repeat  what  the  figures  were,  they  were  so 
tremendous,  so  unbelievable,  that  the  marquis 
laid  the  letter  down,  and  gazed  around  him  be 
wildered.  "  If  this  is  true,"  said  he,  drawing  a 
deep  breath,  "my  young  friend  is  the  richest 
man  in  France."  Thereupon  he  picked  up  the 
letter,  and  read  the  figures  over  again,  and  then 
over  again.  "  He  must  have  made  a  mistake  of 
a  cipher,"  said  the  marquis.  But  no ;  the  amount 
was  not  only  given  in  numbers,  but  written  out 
in  full — there  could  be  no  mistake.  The  marquis 
resumed  the  reading  of  the  epistle.)  "  I  am," 
continued  the  letter, "  tormented  with  fears  at 
having  this  vast  amount  in  my  house" — "I 
should  think  so,"  muttered  the  marquis  to  him 
self — "  which,  though  at  present  a  profound  se 
cret,  may  at  any  time  be  discovered.  What  dan 
gers  I  would  then  be  in,  I  leave  you  to  judge  for 
yourself.  I  have,  monseigneur,  no  friends,  no  rela 
tives,  of  sufficient  age  and  experience  to  advise 
me  in  my  difficulties.  Accordingly  I  turn  to  you, 
who  have  shown  me  so  much  kindness,  and  be- 


A   MODEKN   ALADDIN.  133 

seech  you  that  you  will  so  far  continue  it — I  may 
say  increase  it — as  to  take  charge  of  this  treas 
ure,  and  advise  me  as  to  how  I  may  best  dispose 
of  it." 

Such  was  the  matter  of  Oliver's  letter.  The 
Marquis  cle  Flourens  sat  for  a  long  while  medi 
tating  very  deeply  and  seriously  upon  what  he 
had  read.  That  same  morning  Oliver  received 
a  note  from  him,  "  Bring  your  little  fortune,  my 
child," it  said.  "What  a  father  may  do  for  a 
son,  I  will  do  for  you." 


SCENE  SIXTH. — The  marquis's  cabinet.  The  marquis  discov 
ered  seated  at  a  table,  drumming  upon  it  with  his  fingers, 
and  awaiting  the  coming  of  Oliver,  who  has  just  been  an 
nounced.  Enter  Oliver,  carrying  a  stout  iron-bound  box, 
which  he  deposits  upon  the  table. 

"  Your  treasure  is  in  that  box?"  says  the  mar 
quis. 

Oliver  nodded.     He  was  very  pale. 

The  marquis  arose,  and  not  only  locked  the 
door,  but  even  covered  the  key- hole  from  the 
drilling  of  inquisitive  eyes. 

"Now,  my  dear  child,"  said  he,  turning  to 
Oliver  with  a  smile,  "  let  us  see  what  we  have  in 
our  box;"  and  he  drew  his  chair  again  to  the 
table  beside  which  Oliver  was  standing. 


134  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

They  were  both  of  them  agitated  —  the  mar 
quis  from  expectancy,  and  Oliver  from  the  great 
cast  of  the  die  of  his  life,  which  he  had  deter 
mined  that  day  to  make.  The  hand  with  which 
he  unlocked  the  box  was  as  cold  as  ice. 

The  contents  of  the  box  was  covered  with  a 
layer  of  cotton.  Oliver  removed  it,  and  then  by 
two  straps  lifted  out  a  shallow  wooden  tray  cov 
ered  with  purple  velvet,  and  filled  with  a  glitter 
ing  mass  of  diamonds  of  the  purest  water,  nearly 
all  of  them  large  and  fine.  The  marquis's  eyes 
gleamed  as  brightly  as  the  stones  themselves. 

Below  the  tray  was  another  layer  of  cotton. 
Oliver  removed  it  and  then  another  tray;  then 
another  layer  of  cotton  and  another  tray,  until 
there  were  eight  of  them  spread  upon  the  table 
— it  could  hold  no  more. 

"  There  are  two  more  trays  in  the  box,"  said 
Oliver,  ''but  it  is  not  necessary  that  I  should 
show  you  them ;  these  are  sufficient." 

The  marquis  did  not  reply;  he  was  over 
whelmed  by  what  he  beheld ;  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  saw  the  treasures  of  Golconda.  Oliver 
observed  his  silence,  and,  looking  up,  saw  that  his 
face  had  grown  white  with  the  intensity  of  his 
emotions.  At  last  he  drew  a  deep  breath,  and 
raised  his  eyes  to  Oliver's;  then  feeling  in  his 
pocket,  he  drew  forth  his  handkerchief  and  wiped 


A    MODERN    ALADDIN.  135 

his  face.  His  voice  \vas  husky  when  he  spoke. 
"  But  this  vast,  this  unbelievable  treasure,"  said 
he, "  what  security  shall  I  give  you  if  you  intrust 
it  to  me  to  manage  for  you  ?" 

The  opportunity  for  Oliver's  coup  had  arrived. 
The  marquis  himself  had  given  him  the  very 
chance  which  he  sought,  but  now  that  he  was 
face  to  face  with  it,  he  trembled,  he  hesitated,  he 
feared  to  put  his  happiness  to  the  test  of  speech. 
Yet  he  knew  that  now  or  never  was  the  time  to 
cast  the  die  of  his  hopes  upon  the  table  of  fate. 
He  braced  himself,  gathered  all  the  force  of  his 
will,  and  as  the  blinding  rush  of  resolution  over 
whelmed  him,  he  saw  only  the  marquis's  face  and 
the  marquis's  eyes  looking  into  his. 

"Your  security,"  said  he,  hoarsely  —  and  his 
voice  sounded  in  his  ears  as  though  it  was  not 
his  own — "your  security — let  it — let  it  be — your 
daughter." 

The  words  were  spoken.  There  came  a  long 
pause  of  deep,  intense  silence,  through  which 
Oliver  could  hear  the  throbbing  blood  singing  in 
his  ears.  The  marquis  never  moved  a  hair,  but 
sat  looking  into  Oliver's  eyes.  Oliver  felt  a  dry, 
hard  lump  gather  in  his  throat ;  he  tried  to  swal 
low  it.  The  marquis  pushed  back  his  chair  and 
arose.  Oliver's  eyes  dumbly  followed  his  mo 
tion.  The  marquis  began  walking  up  and  down 


136  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

the  room,  but  he  did  not  say  "  No."  After  a 
while  he  stopped  before  one  of  the  windows  and 
there  stood  a  while,  with  his  hands  clasped  be 
hind  him,  looking  out  upon  the  lawn  and  the 
river  beyond.  Minute  after  minute  passed  in  a 
straining  tensity  of  silence.  Oliver  began  to  feel 
as  though  he  could  bear  it  no  longer.  Suddenly 
the  marquis  spoke : 

"My  daughter?"  said  he,  half  aloud  and  half 
to  himself.  The  words  meant  nothing,  but  they 
were  not  words  of  refusal.  Oliver  felt  a  great 
wave  of  blinding  hope  sweep  over  him.  Sud 
denly  the  marquis  turned  and  came  back  to  the 
table.  He  motioned  Oliver  to  a  chair.  "  Let  us 
talk  this  matter  over,"  said  he,  seriously,  and 
they  both  sat  down.  Oliver's  heart  thumped 
within  him  like  a  trip-hammer.  "Do  you 
know,"  said  the  marquis,  "  what  a  thing  it  is 
that  you  ask?  Do  you  know  that  you  ask 
an  alliance  with  one  of  the  noblest  houses  of 
France  ?"  Oliver  could  not  answer.  "  And 
you,"  continued  the  marquis,  "  who  are  you  ?  I 
do  not  know  you ;  nobody  knows  you.  You  may 
be  what  you  represent  yourself  to  be  ;  you  may 
be  an  adventurer." 

Oliver's  heart  was  sinking  like  a  plummet  of 
lead.  "  My  diamonds  are  real,"  he  croaked. 

The  marquis  smiled,  and  then  a  long  space  of 


r 


"'DO    YOU    KNOW,'  SAID    THE    MARQUIS,  '\VHAT    A    THIN7G    IT    IS    THAT 
YOU    ASK  ?'  " 


A   MODEEN   ALADDIN.  137 

silence  fell.  At  last  he  spoke  again,  and  his 
words  shot  through  Oliver's  heart  like  a  dart. 
"  What  settlement,  then,  would  you  propose  to 
make  upon  your  wife  ?"  said  he. 

"  Wife !"  Oliver's  heart  thrilled  with  the  sud 
den  keenness  of  that  pang  of  sharp  delight.  His 
brain  whirled  in  an  eddy  of  dizzy  light.  At 
last,  with  a  supreme  effort,  he  found  his  tongue. 
"Anything,"  he  cried  —  "anything  that  you 
choose !" 

The  marquis  smiled  again.  "  We  are  ardent," 
said  he.  "  I  see  that  if  this  matter  is  to  be  car 
ried  forward,  I  must  act  not  only  as  a  father, 
but  as  a  friend.  I  confess  to  you,  Oliver,  that  I 
am  deeply  in  debt,  that  Flourens  is  mortgaged 
to  the  last  inch.  Would  you  be  willing  to  re 
lease  Flourens,  and  then  settle  the  estate  upon 
your  wife  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Oliver,  eagerly. 

The  marquis's  smile  grew  wider  than  ever. 
"  Tha't  is  good,"  said  he.  "  But  you  must  know 
that  you  are  one  of  the  richest  men  in  France, 
Oliver.  You  should  do  even  more  than  that  for 
your  wife." 

"  I  will  settle  upon  her  everything  that  I  have 
in  the  world,"  said  Oliver. 

The  marquis  laughed.  "Ah!"  said  he,  "we 
are  certainly  too  ardent — far  too  ardent.  Half 


138  A   MODERN   ALADDIX. 

of  your  fortune  would  be  sufficient ;  or  three- 
quarters  of  it,  at  the  most." 

"  She  shall  have  either,  as  you  may  choose," 
said  Oliver. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  the  marquis,  "  that  it  will  be 
best  that  I  should  manage  her  fortune  for  her  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Oliver.  "  And  you  shall  manage 
mine  also,  if  you  choose." 

The  marquis  saw  that  there  was  no  limit  to 
Oliver's  complacency.  "And  you  will  subscribe 
to  that  ?"  said  he. 

"Yes,"  said  Oliver.  "I  am  willing  to  sub 
scribe  to  anything." 

The  marquis  rose  from  the  chair,  and  opened 
his  arms.  "  Embrace  me,  my  son,"  said  he. 

Oliver  could  have  cried  with  happiness.  "And 
may  I,"  said  he,  tremulously,  when  the  marquis 
had  released  him  from  his  arms — "may  I  then — " 
He  hesitated ;  he  could  not  believe  that  he  had 
reached  such  a  dizzy  pinnacle  of  happiness. 

The  marquis  laughed.  "You  will  find 'mad 
emoiselle  in  the  garden,"  said  he. 


A    MODERN   ALADDIN.  139 


SCENE  SEVENTH. — TheWatteau-like  garden  described  before — 
the  trees,  the  statues,  the  fountains,  tJie  flowers,  the  river. 
Mademoiselle  Celeste  is  discovered  sitting  in  the  shade,  read 
ing,  and  making  just  such  a  picture  as  the  great  artist 
would  have  painted  upon  a  fan. 

Enter  Oliver,  running  down  the  steps  of  a  ter 
race,  dizzy  with  joy,  like  one  in  the  bewildering 
glamour  of  a  golden  dream.  He  seemed  to  tread 
upon  air !  The  blue  sky,  green  foliage,  the  flow 
ers,  the  statues,  the  rivers,  swam  together  in  a 
confusion  of  bewildered  delight.  At  the  sound 
of  his  footsteps  she  raises  her  eyes,  and  lays  aside 
her  book,  and  greets  him  with  the  smile  of  an 
acquaintance. 

"  Oh !"  said  she ;  "  it  is  you,  then  ?  I  have  been 
waiting  for  you." 

'  Oliver's  heart  was  fluttering  within  him.  At 
first  he  could  not  speak,  and  she  must  have  read 
his  joy  and  his  secret  in  his  face,  for  the  rosy  hue 
upon  her  cheeks  deepened. 

He  sank  upon  his  knees  beside  her.  "  I  love 
you,"  he  whispered,  tremulously. 

Her  face  was  turned  away  from  him,  but  she 
did  not  withdraw  the  hand  which  he  held.  There 
was  a  long  time  of  silence.  Oliver  raised  her 
hand  to  his  lips. 


14:0  A    MODERN    ALADDIN. 

"But  my -father,"  she  murmured  at  last. 

"He  bade  me  seek  you  here,"  cried  Oliver, 
eagerly.  Then  again :  "  Oh,  Celeste,  I  love  you ! 
I  love  you !" 

She  turned  her  face  towards  him ;  her  eyes  met 
his  then.  Could  he  believe  it?  AVas  it  real? 
His  lips  met  others,  soft,  warm,  fragrant.  The 
flowers,  the  parterres,  the  trees,  the  blue  sky,  the 
white  marble  statues — all  dissolved  into  a  golden 
ether.  Flourens  ?  It  was  heaven ! 

Madame  the  Marquise  made  no  objection  to  it 
all.  She  had  become  accustomed  to  Oliver  and 
his  diamonds.  He  was  a  pleasant,  cheerful, 
handsome  fellow.  It  made  her  heart  feel  lighter 
to  have  him  about.  As  was  said,  she  had  for 
given  the  ill  taste  of  the  display  of  diamonds, 
and  now  expressed  her  approval  of  the  arrange 
ment.  Oliver's  heaven  was  without  a  cloud. 


SCENE  EIGHTH. — The  marquis's  private  closet. 

A  month  had  passed— a  month  of  delight,  of 
joy,  of  love ;  and  then  one  morning  the  Marquis 
de  Flourens  let  fall  a  torpedo  in  the  midst  of 
Oliver's  little  paradise.  That  morning,  when 
Oliver  went  to  the  chateau,  the  marquis  sent  for 
him.  Oliver  found  him  seated  at  the  table,  play- 


"  HE    SANK    ON    HIS    KNEES    BESIDE    HER." 


A  MODERN   ALADDIN. 

ing  idly  with  a  gold  pencil-case.  He  did  not  ask 
Oliver  to  be  seated,  but  went  directly  to  the  point. 

"  A  week  from  next  Monday,"  said  he, "  we 
shall  go  to  Paris.  You  also,  my  dear  Oliver." 

Oliver  stood  like  one  stunned.  He  made  no 
answer,  but  his  mind,  in  a  single  sweep,  cleared 
the  whole  horizon.  To  Paris !  He  remembered 
the  master's  commands — those  commands  so  ter 
ribly  absolute;  he  remembered  his  threats  of 
punishment  if  he  (Oliver)  should  disobey  that 
mandate.  What  was  that  threat?  Oliver  re 
membered  it  well.  It  was  that  that  terrible 
mysterious  being,  who  had  so  nearly  doomed 
him  to  a  dreadful,  unspeakable  death,  would  crush 
him,  would  annihilate  him,  would  make  him  wish 
a  thousand  times,  in  his  torments,  that  he  had 
never  been  born.  Those  were  almost  the  very 
words,  and  Oliver  had  not  forgotten  them.  He 
had  learned  much  of  his  master  in  the  year  that 
he  had  lived  writh  him,  and  he  knew  that  that 
threat  was  not  idle.  He  knew  that  the  master 
would  do  as  he  said  to  the  last  jot  and  tittle. 
That  cool,  smiling,  sinister  devil !  He  could  de 
stroy  all  of  this  happiness  as  easily  as  one  can 
destroy  a  beautiful  soap-bubble  that  a  child  has 
created  from  nothing. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  go  to  Paris,"  said  Oliver, 
huskily. 


142  A    MODERN    ALADDIN. 

The  marquis's  face  darkened.  "  Not  wish  to 
go  to  Paris  ?"  he  repeated.  "  But  you  must  go, 
Oliver." 

"  No,"  said  Oliver ;  "  I  do  not  wish  to  go.  I 
shall  not  go.  I  would  rather  stay  here  at  Flou- 
rens.  I  do  not  like  Paris." 

The  marquis  came  over  and  took  Oliver  by 
the  button  of  his  coat.  His  face  was  not  pleas 
ant  to  see.  "  You  do  not  like  Paris  !"  said  he. 
"  Yery  well ;  then  you  shall  stay  here,  my  dear 
Oliver — you  and  your  fortune.  But  in  that  case, 
my  child,  you  need  never  come  here  to  the 
chateau  again.  You  comprehend  me  ?" 

Oliver  looked  out  of  the  window.  Celeste  was 
waiting  for  him  upon  the  terrace.  Never  had 
she  looked  so  exquisitely  beautiful.  He  groaned. 

"  Then  I  will  go,"  said  he. 

The  marquis  opened  his  arms.  "  Embrace  me, 
Oliver,"  he  cried. 

Oliver  yielded  himself  to  the  caress,  but  he 
wished  the  marquis  to  the  devil. 


A  MODERN   ALADDIN.  143 


ACT  III.— PARIS. 
SCENE  FIRST. — Madame  de  Pompadour's  salon. 

SOME  dozen  courtiers,  male  and  female,  are 
gathered  in  a  group  at  a  little  distance,  but  not 
too  far  away,  from  a  sofa  standing  by  an  open 
window,  just  where  the  breeze  comes  in  pleas 
antly  from  without.  A  lady  dressed  in  negligee 
robe  de  chambre  of  blue  satin  lies  upon  the  sofa, 
propped  up  with  pillows.  She  is  slowly  fanning 
herself  with  a  very  charmingly  painted  fan,  lis 
tening  the  while  impassively  to  the  subdued  talk, 
and  the  occasional  ripple  of  laughter  that  follows 
some  more  than  usually  apt  observation  or  repar 
tee.  She  does  not  talk  or  smile  herself,  but  only 
continues  fanning  herself  with  slow  impassiveness. 
She  is  still  beautiful,  but  she  is  somewhat  hag 
gard  and  worn,  and  even  the  powder  and  rouge, 
and  an  occasional  patch  here  and  there,  cannot 
altogether  hide  the  leaden  pallor  of  ill  health.  It 
is  Madame  de  Pompadour,  and  it  is  one  of  the 
days  in  which  she  feels  more  than  usually  un 
well. 


144  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

The  conversation  of  those  around  chiefly  con 
cerns  two  lovers,  whom  all  Paris  is  just  now  pet 
ting  and  caressing,  the  young  and  charming 
Monsieur  de  Monniere-Croix  and  his  fiancee  Mad 
emoiselle  de  Flourens.  The  match  is  altogether  a 
singular  and  remarkable  one.  Those  who  have 
seen  the  young  man  report  him  very  handsome, 
but  it  is  whispered  that  he  is  of  obscure  origin. 
Were  it  not  for  his  stupendous  wealth,  the  story 
of  which  is  very  well  authenticated,  it  would  have 
been  a  dreadful  misalliance.  As  it  is,  that  wealth 
is  so  great  as  to  level  all  distinctions,  and  the 
world  has  not  only  forgiven  the  match,  but  has 
been  vastly  interested  in  the  love  affair.  The 
talk  of  it  has  reached  even  Madame  de  Pompa 
dour's  ears,  and  she  has  been  pleased  to  express  a 
desire  to  have  them  presented  to  her.  The  day 
and  the  time  for  that  presentation  has  arrived, 
and  that  perhaps  is  why  the  conversation  just 
now  concerns  the  lovers. 

Madame  de  Berry  protests  that  they  are  the 
handsomest  couple  that  she  has  ever  seen  ;  their 
love  so  innocent,  so  deliciously  childlike.  They 
are  a  new  Corydon  and  Phyllis — Cupidon  and 
Psyche.  In  them  Arcadia  is  come  again.  It  is 
the  prettiest  thing  in  the  world  to  see  their  un 
easiness  when  separated,  their  fond  glances  when 
together. 


A    MODERN   ALADDIN.  145 

Monsieur  de  Gontat  had  heard  the  Duchesse 
de  Choiseul  speak  of  them  the  other  day.  She 
declares  them  her  latest  passion,  and  says  that 
they  are  like  that  which  the  poets  describe,  and 
which  nobody  ever  saw  before.  She  loves  to 
have  them  near  her— the  dear  Duchesse — and 
says  that  they  make  her  feel  that  life  is  not  alto 
gether  like  the  new  screen  that  Monsieur  Wat- 
teau  has  just  finished  for  her,  not  altogether  flat, 
not  altogether  surface,  not  all  pretended  sim 
plicity  in  powder  and  patches,  and  with  painted 
fan  to  hide  a  painted  blush ;  she  says  they  make 
her  have  a  better  opinion  of  herself.  So  the 
buzz  of  talk  goes  on,  and  Madame  de  Pompadour 
fans  herself  and  listens  impassively. 

Then  the  talk  suddenly  turns  to  the  Count  de 
St.  Germaine,  who  has  grown  such  a  favorite,  not 
only  with  Madame  de  Pompadour,  but  of  late 
with  his  Majesty  himself. 

Monsieur  de  Gontat  tells  of  the  last  wonder 
relating  to  him.  Yesterday  his  Majesty  sent  for 
him. 

"  Monsieur  Count,"  said  he,  "  they  say  that  you 
can  remove  flaws  from  a  diamond.  Is  it  so  ?" 

"  Yes,  sire,"  answered  the  count. 

"  Then  here  is  a  diamond  that  would  be  worth 
fifty  thousand  livres  except  for  this  flaw ;  it  is  not 
worth  five  thousand  now.  Can  you  remedy  it  ?" 
10 


146  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

"  I  can  try,  sire,"  answers  the  count,  and  he 
slips  it  into  his  waistcoat. 

Would  you  believe  it?  He  brings  it  in  this 
morning  sound  and  whole  and  without  flaw. 

"  I  myself,"  says  Monsieur  de  Gontat,  "  was 
present  when  the  jeweller  appraised  it.  His 
Majesty  said  that  he  would  keep  it  as  one  of  the 
greatest  curiosities  of  his  cabinet." 

Monsieur  de  Gontat  had  hardly  ended  his  story 
when  Oliver  and  Celeste  were  announced. 

Madame  de  Pompadour  ceased  her  fanning 
and  turned  her  head  languidly  as  they  were 
ushered  across  the  room  and  presented. 

The  Marquis  de  Flourens,  who  had  come  with 
them,  was  also  presented.  He  paid  his  respects, 
and  then  immediately  withdrew  to  one  side,  and 
was  absorbed  in  the  little  group  of  those  in  wait 
ing. 

Madame  reached  out  her  hand  to  Celeste.  "  Come 
hither,  my  child,  and  let  me  look  at  you,"  said  she. 

Celeste  came  timidly  forward,  and  Madame  de 
Pompadour  took  her  by  the  hand.  She  drew 
her  down  until  the  girl  kneeled  upon  the  floor 
beside  the  sofa.  The  poor  sick  woman  looked 
long  and  earnestly  into  her  young  face. 

"  You  are  beautiful,  you  are  young,  you  are 
happy,"  she  murmured.  "  You  are  happy,  are 
you  not  ?" 


''SHE    DREW    HER    DOWN    UNTIL    THK   GIRL    KNEELED    UPON 
THE    FLOOR    BESIDE    HER." 


A  MODERN   ALADDIN.  147 

"  Yes,"  answered  Celeste,  in  a  whisper. 

"  And  you  love  Monsieur  de  Monniere-Croix?" 

"  Yes,"  whispered  Celeste  again,  and  her  voice 
thrilled. 

Madame  de  Pompadour  fetched  a  little  half- 
sigh,  which  faded  to  a  smile  before  it  had  left 
her  lips.  "Ah !"  said  she,  "  it  is  the  young  who 
are  happy."  Then,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"Will  you  kiss  me,  child?" 

Celeste  bent  forward,  and  her  fresh  young  in 
nocent  lips  met  those  others — so  soiled,  so  wan 
and  faded.  It  was  all  as  effectively  done  as  any 
thing  upon  the  boards  of  the  Comedie  Frangaise. 

Madame  de  Pompadour  turned  with  a  smile, 
and  beckoned  to  Oliver. 

"Come,  Monsieur  Count,"  said  she,  "your 
place  should  be  here  beside  your  lady ;"  and  she 
motioned  to  him  to  kneel  beside  Celeste. 

Oliver  saw  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  stood 
around  smile.  He  was  embarrassed  ;  he  blushed 
like  a  school-boy ;  but  there  was  nothing  for  him 
to  do  but  to  kneel.  Celeste  saw  his  confusion, 
and  furtively  reached  out  her  little  hand  and 
gave  his  an  encouraging  squeeze.  Madame  de 
Pompadour  saw  it  and  smiled.  Yes,  it  certainly 
was  Arcadian. 

At  that  moment  another  arrival  was  an 
nounced,  "  Monsieur  the  Count  de  St.  Germaine !" 


148  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

'Now  and  then  the  name  of  the  Count  de  St. 
Germaine,  and  the  story  of  his  strange  doings, 
reached  even  to  the  paradise  of  the  lovers.  Oc 
casionally  Oliver  heard  a  breath  of  these  things, 
and  when  he  heard  it  he  trembled — the  breath 
was  sinister  and  smelt  from  the  pit.  But  he  was 
not  troubled  for  long  at  a  time;  his  cockle 
floated  gayly  along  the  stream  of  fateful  happi 
ness  ;  he  was  too  absorbed  in  his  love-dreams  to 
burden  his  thoughts  with  the  fear  of  being  over 
whelmed  in  the  dark  waters  upon  which  that 
cockle  swam.  Nevertheless,  the  name,  falling  so 
unexpectedly  upon  Oliver's  ears,  came  with  a 
certain  shock  of  dread.  He  bent  his  head  as  he 
kneeled,  and  for  a  time  did  not  dare  to  look 
around.  The  new-comer  came  forward  with  the 
well-assured  air  of  a  favorite.  Oliver  could  feel 
him  coming  nearer  and  nearer. 

"  Eise,  my  children,"  said  Madame  de  Pompa 
dour.  And  as  they  obeyed,  she  presented  Oliver 
to  the  other.  "  Monsieur  de  St.  Germaine,"  said 
she,  "let  me  present  to  you  Monsieur  de  Mon- 
niere-Croix." 

Oliver  slowly  raised  his  eyes,  and  then  his 
heart  crumbled  away  within  him.  It  was  the 
master  ! 

It  seemed  to  Oliver  as  though  the  room  dark 
ened  around  him,  and  he  saw  but  one  thing — 


"MONSIEUR    THE    COUNT    DE    ST.  OERMATNE!" 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

that  cold,  handsome  'face.  His  ears  rang  as 
though  with  a  chime  of  bells.  The  floor  seemed 
to  rock  beneath  his  feet,  for  he  knew  what  to 
expect  when  those  thin  lips  parted— he  would  be 
denounced,  exposed,  here  before  Madame  de  Pom 
padour  and  her  court.  His  heart  shrunk  together, 
but  he  steeled  himself  to  face  the  coming  blow. 

But  he  was  mistaken.  The  thin  lips  parted, 
the  face  lit  up  with  a  smile.  "Ah,"  cried  the 
well-known  voice,  "  it  is  Oliver ;  it  is  the  little 
Oliver !  You  do  not  remember  me.  JSTo  ?  Oh, 
well,  it  is  not  likely  you  would ;  and  yet  I  was 
the  dearest  friend  that  your  poor  uncle,  who  is 
now  in  Paradise,  had  in  the  world."  He  turned 
to  the  others  who  stood  there,  still  holding  Oli 
ver  by  the  hand,  which  he  had  taken  when  he 
first  began  speaking.  "The  world,"  said  he, 
"does  not  yet  .know  half  the  romance  connected 
with  this  young  man.  His  uncle  Henri,  Cheva 
lier  de  Monniere-Croix,  was  one  of  the  richest 
men  in  France.  Poor  soul !  he  is  dead  now,  but 
when  he  lived  he  was  the  owner  of  one  of  the 
largest  diamond  mines  in  Brazil.  Diamonds! 
The  world  has  never  seen  the  like  of  the  Cheva 
lier  de  Monniere-Croix's  diamonds!  And  now 
this  young  man  has  been  left  heir  to  them  all. 
Henri  de  Monniere-Croix  and  I  were  in  Brazil 
together,  and  it  was  with  him  that  I  gained 


150  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

what  little  knowledge  I  possess  concerning  pre 
cious  stones ;  I  may  say,  indeed,  that  he  was  my 
teacher  in  that  knowledge.  I  was  intimately 
acquainted  with  his  affairs,  and  know  that  Oli 
ver,  as  is  reputed  of  him,  is  one  of  the  richest 
men  in  Europe." 

All  who  were  present  listened  to  the  count's 
speech  with  breathless  interest  and  in  dead 
silence.  But  to  Oliver  the  words  he  heard 
spoken  lifted  him  at  a  bound  from  the  gulf  of 
despair  into  which  he  was  falling.  The  master 
did  not  mean  to  ruin  him  just  then.  The  re 
bound  from  the  tensity  of  the  strain  was  too 
great  for  him  to  bear.  The  ground  beneath  his 
feet  heaved  and  rocked,  the  room  spun  around 
and  around.  He  heard  some  one,  he  knew  not 
whom,  give  a  sharp  exclamation ;  he  felt  a  strong, 
sinewy  arm  clasp  him  about  the  body ;  he  knew 
it  was  the  master's  arm,  and  then — nothing. 


SCENE  SECOND. — A  room  in  the  Hotel  de  Flourens,  whither 
Oliver  lias  been  removed  after  having  fainted  in  madame's 
salon. 

It  is  the  next  day,  and  Oliver  is  discovered  lying 
upon  a  sofa,  limp,  heart -sick,  overshadowed  by 
the  looming  of  coming  misfortune.  The  ladies 


A  MODERN   ALADDIN.  151 

have  sent  many  inquiries  as  to  his  health,  and 
two  little  notes  from  Celeste  are  lying  upon  the 
table  at  his  elbow.  Enter  suddenly  Henri,  who 
is  in  attendance  upon  him. 

"A  gentleman  to  see  monsieur,"  said  the  valet, 
and  almost  instantly  another  voice,  speaking  from 
behind  him,  said : 

"It  is  I,  Oliver.  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of 
an  old  friend  of  your  dear  uncle ;  I  was  anxious 
concerning  your  health,  and  so  followed  imme 
diately.  You  need  not  wait,  Henri "  -  to  the 
valet. 

He  entered  as  he  spoke,  and  waiting  for  a  mo 
ment  to  make  sure  that  Henri  had  gone,  then 
closed  the  door  and  turned  to  Oliver,  who  now  sat 
speechless,  motionless,  fascinated,  with  eyes  fixed, 
and  a  face  as  white  as  wax.  He  drew  forward 
a  chair,  and  placing  it  close  to  Oliver,  sat  for  a 
long  time  looking  fixedly  and  intently  at  him. 
At  last,  without  removing  his  eyes,  he  drew  out 
his  snuffbox — the  famous  snuffbox  that  Madame 
de  Pompadour  had  given  him  with  her  own  hands 
— and  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  with  a  deal  of  gusto. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  have  you  nothing  to  say  to 
me?" 

"I  thought,"  said  Oliver,  dully,  "that  it  was 
you  who  had,  perhaps,  something  to  say  to  me." 

The  Count  de  St.  Germaine  laughed.    "  Some- 


152  A   MODEBN   ALADDIN. 

thing  to  say  to  you  ?"  said  he.  <:  Oh !  You  mean, 
perhaps,  about  that  looking-glass  of  mine,  upon 
which  you  drew  that  accursed  sign  with  one  of 
those  very  diamonds  that  I  had  taught  you  to 
make  ?  Perhaps  you  thought  that  by  doing  so 
you  would  prevent  my  following  your  motions 
for  the  future.  "Well,  as  far  as  the  mirror  is 
concerned,  you  were  right ;  you  have  spoiled  it 
for  me.  You,  who  are  generally  so  dull,  some 
times  surprise  one  with  sudden  gleams  of  your 
bucolic  cunning.  I  confess  that  you  did  most 
effectually  what  you  intended ;  you  ruined  that 
looking-glass  forever.  So  far  as  I  am  con 
cerned,  I  can  never  see  anything  in  it  again. 
Are  you  not  deserving  of  punishment  for 
that?" 

Oliver  strove  to  speak,  but  his  white  lips  ut 
tered  no  sound. 

"  Again,"  said  the  Count  de  St.  Germaine,  "  I 
commanded  you  when  we  parted  that  you  should 
never  return  to  Paris ;  I  forbade  you  impera 
tively,  absolutely,  from  coming.  I  unbosomed 
myself  to  you  and  told  you  all ;  I  confessed  to 
you  that  I  feared  your  influence  upon  my  des 
tiny.  What  has  resulted  ?  You,  knowing  that 
you  have  taken  away  all  my  means  of  following 
your  movements,  did  return  here  against  those 
express  commands  that  I  had  laid  upon  you, 


1  THE    COUNT    DK    ST.  GKRMAINK,  WITHOUT  REMOVING   HIS   EYES    FROM 
HIS  VICTIM,  TOOK  ANOTHER   DEEP,  LUXURIOUS  PINCH   OF  SNUFF." 


A   MODEBN  ALADDIN.  153 

braving  all  my  threats  of  punishment.  Should 
you  not  be  punished  for  that  ?" 

"  I  could  not  help  it,"  said  Oliver,  hoarsely ; 
"  the  marquis  compelled  me  to  come." 

Once  more  the  other  laughed.  "  I  know  noth 
ing  of  that,"  said  he.  "  I  only  know  that  you 
are  here.  "Why  you  are  here  concerns  yourself, 
and  not  me.  Now  what  do  you  think  that  I  am 
about  to  do  to  you,  Oliver  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Oliver.  And  he  hid  his 
face  in  his  trembling  hands. 

The  Count  de  St.  Germaine,  without  removing 
his  eyes  from  his  victim,  took  another  deep,  lux 
urious  pinch  of  snuff.  Then  he  shut  the  lid  with 
a  snap,  and  slipped  the  box  again  into  his  pocket, 
but  all  that  time  his  eyes  never  once  moved  from 
the  cowering  Oliver.  Suddenly  he  burst  out 
laughing,  and  clapped  the  lad  upon  the  shoulder. 
"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do  to  you,  Oliver," 
said  he ;  "I  will  forgive  you !  Do  you  hear  me ? 
I  will  forgive  you  /" 

Oliver  slowly  removed  his  hands  from  his  face, 
and  looked  up  with  dumb  bewilderment.  "  You 
forgive  me  ?"  he  repeated,  stupidly. 

"  Yes,  I  forgive  you." 

A  long  pause  of  silence  followed,  during  which 
Oliver  looked  intently  and  earnestly  into  that 
smiling  face,  so  close  to  his  own.  That  smiling 


154  A   MODEEN   ALADDIN. 

face — it  was  an  impenetrable  mask,  it  was  the 
face  of  a  sphinx,  and  Oliver  might  almost  as 
well  have  tried  to  read  the  one  as  the  other. 
Yet  there  was  a  soul  behind  it,  and  that  soul 
could  not  entirely  be  hidden ;  one  glimpse  of  it 
flashed  out  through  the  eyes.  Oliver  saw  it  and 
shuddered. 

"You  forgive  me?"  he  repeated.  "What  do 
you  mean  ?  I  do  not  comprehend.  What  would 
you  have  me  do  ?" 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  raised 
his  eyebrows.  "What  would  I  have  you  do?" 
said  he.  "  You  surprise  me !  I  talk  to  you,  and 
you  do  not  seem  to  hear  me.  I  say  that  I  for 
give  you,  and  you  do  not  seem  to  understand. 
What  I  mean  is  that  you  shall  continue  to  live 
here,  as  you  have  already  done,  in  an  atmosphere 
of  happiness  and  love.  It  is  beautiful,  as  all  Paris 
says ;  it  is  delightful !  After  all,  I  cannot  pun 
ish  you,  for  I  have  not  the  heart  to  interfere  with 
it.  By -and -by  you  shall  marry  Mademoiselle 
Celeste." 

Oliver  never  removed  his  looks  from  the  oth 
er's  face.  "  Marry  Celeste  ?"  he  murmured,  me 
chanically. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  other,  "  I  never  saw 
you  so  dull.  I  said  that  you  were  to  marry 
Mademoiselle  Celeste — to  marry  her.  But,  there ! 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  155 

I  see  what  it  is.  You  are  not  yet  recovered 
from  your  illness  in  Madame  de  Pompadour's 
salon.  It  was  indeed  insufferably  hot.  Poor 
lady !  she  is  like  a  green  cockatoo,  she  cannot 
abide  a  touch  of  cold.  But  I  weary  you ;  I  will 
take  another  opportunity  of  visiting  you.  But 
remember,  my  dear  Oliver,  I  forgive  you.  Au 
revoir  /" 

He  was  gone ;  and  Oliver  sat  as  Monsieur  de 
St.  Germaine  had  left  him,  clad  in  his  dressing- 
gown,  and  seated  upon  the  edge  of  the  sofa, 
leaning  with  his  elbows  upon  his  knees,  his  hands 
clasped  before  him,  and  his  eyes  fixed  dully  upon 
the  floor.  Forgive  him !  His  soul  told  him  that 
he  need  expect  no  forgiveness  from  that  cold, 
iron  heart.  "What  should  he  do  ?  How  should 
he  escape  the  fate  which  he  felt  was  hanging 
over  him  ?  The  master  had  said  that  he  was  to 
marry  Celeste.  Upon  the  eve  of  that  marriage, 
perhaps,  he  would  come  and  proclaim  him  the 
cheat,  the  charlatan  that  he  was.  He  shuddered 
as  he  pictured  the  shame  of  the  humiliation  of 
such  a  disclosure.  Suddenly  a  thought  flashed 
upon  him,  like  light  upon  the  darkness :  why  not 
tell  Celeste  his  story?  Why  not  confess  all  to 
her,  and  throw  himself  upon  her  mercy?  His 
shame  would  be  less,  and  she  would  scorn  him 
less,  than  if  he  waited  for  the  Count  de  St.  Ger- 


156  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

maine  to  expose  him.  His  heart  stood  still  at 
the  thought  of  Celeste's  grief  and  despair.  And 
Paris !  How  Paris  would  laugh  at  the  denoue 
ment  of  that  romance  which  it  now  petted  and 
approved.  In  a  sudden  rush  of  determination, 
and  without  giving  himself  time  for  second 
thought,  he  drew  paper  and  ink  towards  him, 
and  set  himself  to  write  a  letter  to  Celeste.  It 
was  a  blundering,  blotted  letter.  It  took  him  a 
long,  long  time  to  write  it,  but  at  last  it  was 
done ;  in  it  he  told  her  all ;  and  then,  still  with 
out  giving  himself  time  to  think,  he  rang  the 
bell,  and  Henri  appeared.  He  hesitated,  for  one 
last  moment,  with  a  shrinking  heart. 

"  What  will  monsieur  have  ?"  said  Henri. 

"  Take  this  letter,"  said  Oliver,  with  one  last, 
desperate  resolve,  "  to  Mademoiselle  Celeste,  and 
— and  wait  her  answer." 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

Oliver  watched  the  man  as  he  crossed  the 
room,  as  he  noiselessly  closed  the  door ;  he  was 
gone. 

How  long  the  answer  was  in  returning  Oliver 
never  could  tell.  It  might  have  been  only  a  few 
minutes  that  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room. 
It  seemed  to  him  hours. 

"  Monsieur,  a  letter." 

Oliver  turned  sharply.     It  was  Henri,  and  he 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  157 

presented  upon  his  tray  a  little  note.  It  was,  as 
far  as  outward  appearance  was  concerned,  almost 
exactly  like  those  two  others  upon  the  table ;  but 
what  was  within  ?  Oliver  hardly  dared  touch  it. 
He  opened  it  slowly,  hesitatingly;  there  were 
only  three  words,  "  I  love  you " — that  was  all. 
Yes,  that  was  all.  Oliver  sat  looking  at  it  with 
eyes  that  blinded  more  and  more,  until  at  last 
one  hot  drop  fell  with  a  pat  upon  the  open  sheet. 
Then  even  Henri's  presence  was  not  enough  to 
inspire  self-control.  He  broke  down,  and  began 
crying,  and  probably,  if  Henri  thought  anything 
at  all,  it  was  that  there  had  been  a  quarrel. 


SCENE  THIRD. — The  grand  salon  of  the  Hotel  de  Flourem; 
the  hour,  near  midnight.  Oliver  is  discovered  walking  rap 
idly  and  agitatedly  up  and  down  the  length  of  the  great 
room,  still  illuminated  by  a  tliousand  and  one  candles. 

And  now  the  last  guest  has  been  gone  for  some 
time,  the  last  huge  unwieldy  coach  has  rumbled 
away,  and  the  dull  silence  seems  to  hum  and  buzz 
after  the  clatter  of  the  afternoon  and  night.  He 
is  married.  Oliver  is  still  bewildered.  He  is 
like  one  in  a  dream ;  he  only  half  knows  what 
he  does  and  says ;  he  only  half  senses  what  he 
sees  and  hears ;  his  heart  thrills  almost  agoniz- 


158  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

ingly  with  joy  and  triumph.  Celeste  is  his,  his 
very  own,  his  wife ;  and  what  is  more,  it  has 
been  arranged  that  he  and  she  are  to  depart  for 
Flourens  —  dear,  sweet,  beautiful  Flourens — the 
very  next  morning. 

Some  days  before,  Oliver  had  proposed  the 
departure  to  the  marquis,  and  the  marquis 
had  made  no  objection.  He  had  made  but  one 
stipulation,  that  he  himself  should  remain  in 
Paris. 

"  There  are  many  matters  of  business  to  attend 
to,"  he  had  said.  "  "VYe  have  as  yet  been  able  to 
dispose  of  only  a  minute  portion  of  our  diamonds. 
The  amount  we  have  realized  upon  them  has 
been  enormous,  yet  it  is  only  a  drop  or  two  taken 
from  the  bucket." 

It  had  been  arranged  that  Oliver  was  to  see 
the  marquis  upon  some  final  business  that  very 
night,  and  so  it  is  that  he  is  now  discovered  walk 
ing  so  impatiently  up  and  down  the  empty  room 
at  that  hour,  his  heart  thrilling  with  joy  and  de 
light.  But  through  all  Oliver's  joy  and  delight 
there  ran  every  now  and  then  a  discordant  pang 
of  uneasiness,  for  suddenly,  in  spite  of  himself, 
his  thoughts  would  flash  back  upon  the  memory 
of  the  master,  and  under  that  vivid  sinister  flash 
of  recollection  his  soul  shrank  and  trembled 
within  him.  Twelve  hours  still  stretched  be- 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  159 

tween  him  and  that  time  of  departure.  What 
might  not  happen  in  twelve  hours  ? 

"  Twelve  hours,"  muttered  Oliver  to  himself. 
"  I  would  give  all  my  diamonds  if  they  were 
passed  and  gone."  He  thought  of  Celeste,  and  a 
keen  thrill  pierced  through  his  heart ;  he  thought 
of  the  master,  and  another  keen  thrill — this  time 
heart-sickening — shot  through  him  as  the  other 
had  done.  "  No  matter,"  he  muttered  to  him 
self,  "  the  morning  will  soon  come  and  we  will 
be  miles  away,  with  nothing  to  fear  and  with 
nothing  to  think  of  but  our  love."  He  pressed 
his  face  against  the  window  and  looked  out  into 
the  night,  then  he  turned  and  pulled  out  his 
watch  impatiently  and  looked  at  it ;  it  was  ten 
minutes  of  twelve.  "  I  wish  he  would  make 
haste,"  he  muttered. 

As  though  in  answer  to  his  impatient  murmur, 
the  door  opened  and  a  servant  announced  that 
the  marquis  was  ready  to  see  him  now  in  his 
closet. 

Oliver  found  him  seated  at  his  escritoire,  with 
books  and  papers  spread  out  before  him.  He 
took  the  chair  that  the  marquis  indicated,  and 
then  the  marquis  began  talking  to  him.  Oliver 
did  not  know  what  he  was  saying ;  whenever 
the  other  would  pause  for  a  reply,  he  would  say, 
"  Yes,  yes,  that  is  so,"  or,  "  I  think  not,"  as  the 


160  A   MODEEN   ALADDIN. 

words  seemed  to  demand;  sometimes  he  under 
stood  what  was  said,  but  more  generally  it  might 
as  well  have  been  spoken  in  Greek. 

"Then,"  said  the  marquis,  "if  I  understand 
correctly,  you  are  entirely  satisfied  with  my 
management  of  your  affairs  ?" 

Oliver  was  beginning  to  grow  weary  of  this 
business.  "  Yes,"  said  he,  restlessly,  "  yes,  I  am 
entirely  satisfied.  Manage  them  as  you  choose ; 
I  do  not  care ;  it  is  of  no  importance." 

The  marquis  opened  his  arms.  "  Embrace  me !" 
he  cried.  "  You  are  generosity  itself ;  I  admire 
generosity !  Your  confidence  in  me  touches  me. 
You  must  know,  Oliver,  that  I  manage  most  dis 
creetly.  We  have  lived  here,  as  you  are  aware, 
without  stint  or  economy  —  it  would  have  been 
wrong  for  me  to  limit  that  generosity  of  yours 
which  I  so  much  admire — but  yet  I  have  not 
been  extravagant ;  for  not  only  have  we  main 
tained  the  establishment  here  in  Paris,  but  we 
have  also  paid  off  the  debts  upon  it,  as  well  as 
upon  Flourens.  Yes,  Flourens  is  freed ;  and  I — 
I  am  not  to  be  outdone  in  generosity ;  those  an 
cestral  estates  of  Flourens  that  have  been  in  the 
hands  of  our  family  for  generations  " — he  waved 
his  hand — "  I  give  them  to  you,  Oliver,  and  to 
Celeste  for  your  own." 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  Oliver. 


A   MODERN  ALADDIN.  161 

The  marquis  paused  for  a  moment;  his  own 
generosity  moved  him  profoundly.  "  But  I  was 
about  to  say,"  continued  he,  presently,  "  that  the 
reason  more  especially  why  I  called  you  here 
was  to  let  you  see  how  few  of  our  diamonds 
have  been  disposed  of.  I  will  show  you." 

"  I  do  not  care  to  see,"  said  Oliver. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  the  marquis,  "but  you 
must  see  them,  my  dear  Oliver.  It  is  business. 
Look !  yonder  is  the  chest  of  diamonds.  I  have 
had  it  brought  here  to-day  not  only  to  show  you 
how  little  of  the  contents  we  have  as  yet  dis 
posed  of,  but  also  because  I  expect  three  mer 
chants  from  Amsterdam  to  visit  me  to-morrow 
and  inspect  the  gems.  They  write  to  me  that 
they  have  formed  a  company  for  the  purchase 
of  a  quantity  of  them." 

While  he  was  speaking  he  had  taken  a  bunch 
of  keys  from  a  secret  compartment  of  the  escri 
toire.  One  of  them  was  the  key  of  the  chest. 
He  thrust  it  into  the  lock,  drew  back  the  bolts, 
and  opened  the  lid.  "  You  see,"  said  he,  "  there 
is  not  one-tenth  of  this  first  tray  of  diamonds 
that  we  have  as  yet  disposed  of."  Oliver  glanced 
indifferently  at  them.  "  The  rest  of  the  trays," 
continued  the  marquis,  "  have  not  yet  been  touch 
ed.  I  will  show  them  to  you." 

"  I  do  not  care  to  see  them,"  said  Oliver ;  "  I 
ii 


162  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

•will  take  your  word  for  it.  If  there  is  nothing 
further  that  you  care  to  speak  to  me  about,  I 
would  like  to  be  excused ;  there  are  many  things 
that  I  have  to  prepare  for  my  journey." 

"  Ah !"  said  the  marquis,  "  I  see  these  dull  af 
fairs  of  business,  they  are  of  no  interest  to  you. 
Youth  is  so  impetuous !  It  is  better,"  said  he, 
as  he  locked  the  chest  and  replaced  the  keys  in 
the  secret  compartment  of  his  escritoire — "it  is 
better  to  possess  youth  and  love  than  all  the 
wealth  and  gems  of  the  Indies.  Go,  my  dear 
Oliver,  and  trust  in  me.  I  will  manage  your  af 
fairs,  my  child,  as  though  they  were  my  own." 

Oliver  did  not  wait  for  a  second  bidding;  he 
flew  from  the  place  and  the  tiresome  talk  of 
diamonds  and  business.  As  he  was  about  to 
enter  the  room  which  he  had  left  only  a  little 
while  before,  he  hesitated  for  a  moment,  he  knew 
not  why.  A  sudden  pang  shot  through  him,  and 
he  pressed  his  hand  to  his  bosom.  That  instant 
a  clock  rang  out  sharply  in  the  silence.  He 
counted  the  twelve  strokes,  and  then  opened 
the  door. 

Some  one  stood  looking  out  of  the  window,  his 
face  close  to  the  glass.  He  wore  a  long  black 
cloak,  beneath  which  he  carried  a  large  oval  frame 
of  some  sort.  Oliver  walked  mechanically  up  the 
room,  and  as  he  advanced  that  other  turned  slow- 


A   MODEKN   ALADDIN.  163 

ly  towards  him.  Oliver's  heart  gave  a  great 
bound,  and  then  stood  quite  still  within  him. 
The  next  instant  every  grain  of  strength  seemed 
to  slip  away  from  him ;  his  knees  grew  suddenly 
weak  and  smote  together ;  his  hands  dropped  with 
a  leaden  heaviness  to  his  sides,  and  his  tongue 
clave  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  It  was  the  master! 

A  moment  or  two  of  dead  silence  followed, 
and  in  the  heavy,  breathless  stillness  the  sharp 
ticking  of  a  clock  sounded  with  piercing  distinct 
ness  upon  Oliver's  tensely -drawn  nerves.  The 
master  said  not  a  word,  but  he  looked  upon  him 
with  a  cool,  contained  smile  of  ineffable  com 
placency. 

At  last,  somehow,  Oliver  found  his  voice. 
"  You !"  he  said,  hoarsely ;  and  then  again,  with 
a  gulp  :  "  You !  How  came  you  here  ?" 

The  Count  de  St.  Germaine  laughed.  "  How 
came  I  here?  I  walked  here.  That  does  not 
satisfy  you  ?  Well,  no  matter.  I  have,  as  you 
may  know,  many,  very  many,  ways  of  coming 
and  going  as  I  choose.  Just  now  it  is  sufficient 
that  I  am  here." 

"  And  for  what  have  you  come  ?"  said  Oliver, 
in  that  same  slow,  hoarse  voice. 

For  a  while  the  master  leaned  against  the  deep 
window-casing,  and  looked  at  him  from  under 
his  brows,  his  eyes  burning  like  green  sparks. 


A   MODEBN   ALADDIN. 

"For  what  did  I  come,  Oliver?"  said  he  at 
last.  "  I  will  tell  you.  You  must  know  that  I 
have  a  silly  habit  of  keeping  my  promises.  Did 
I  not  make  you  the  richest  man  in  France  ?  Did 
I  not  teach  you  the  secret  of  the  water  of  wealth? 
Did  I  not  teach  you  all  that  you  know,  and  make 
you  all  that  you  are  ?  Yery  good.  By  so  doing 
I  fulfilled  one  part  of  a  promise  I  some  time  made 
you.  Now  I  have  come  to  fulfil  the  other  part. 
I  promised  you  then  that  should  you  ever  return 
to  Paris  I  would  ruin  you ;  I  am  going  to  ruin 
you.  I  promised  that  I  would  crush  you ;  I  am 
about  to  crush  you.  I  promised  to  make  your 
life  a  hell ;  I  will  make  it  a  hell.  I  will  make 
you  wish  a  thousand  times  that  you  had  never 
been  born.  When  I  first  met  you  in  Madame  de 
Pompadour's  salon,  I  read  in  your  face  your  fear 
that  I  would  betray  you.  Ah,  no !  that  would 
have  been  childish ;  it  would  have  been  petulant ; 
it  would  have  been  impatient  and  premature. 
No,  Oliver ;  I  have  waited  until  now,  and  what 
do  you  think  I  have  waited  for  ?" 

Oliver's  lips  moved,  but  he  could  not  answer. 
He  stood  leaning  with  his  hand  upon  the  side  of 
the  table,  stunned  and  dizzied.  He  felt  as  though 
every  word  that  the  master  spoke  struck  a  leaden 
blow  upon  his  heart.  But  the  other  did  not  wait 
for  a  reply.  He  flung  back  his  cloak,  and  brought 


A   MODEKN   ALADDIN.  165 

forth  that  which  he  carried  beneath  it.  It  was 
the  magic  mirror,  upon  the  face  of  which  was 
drawn  the  sign  that,  as  Oliver  knew,  stood  be 
tween  his  master  and  his  supernatural  power. 

The  master  stood  it  upon  the  table  beside  Oli 
ver,  and  then,  brushing  the  dust  from  his  hands, 
turned  a  smiling  face  upon  his  victim. 

"  You  cannot  guess?"  said  he,  returning  to  the 
question  he  had  asked.  "Ah,  well,  it  does  not 
matter.  I  will  tell  you.  I  intend  to  pierce  your 
heart  through  that  young  wife  of  yours,  Oliver." 

The  words  struck  upon  Oliver's  ears  like  a 
blow,  and  like  a  blow  shattered  into  fragments 
the  dull,  hearry,  icy  despair  that  rested  upon  him. 

"  My  wife !"  he"  cried.  «  My  wife !  Oh  God ! 
You  devil !  You  at  least  shall  die  !"  His  dress- 
sword  hung  at  his  side,  and  as  he  spoke  he  flashed 
it  out. 

But  the  Count  de  St.  Germaine  only  laughed. 
"Come,"  said  he,  "we  are  silly;  we  are  childish. 
Do  you  think,  then,  that  I  am  afraid  of  your 
sword?  Ha!" 

As  he  uttered  the  exclamation  he  struck  his 
hands  sharply  together,  and  it  seemed  to  Oliver 
as  though  the  blow  had  fallen  upon  him  physi 
cally.  Sparks  of  fire  danced  before  his  eyes ;  for 
a  few  seconds  his  head  spun  like  a  teetotum,  and 
the  objects  in  the  room  flew  around  him  in  a, 


166  A   MODERN"  ALADDIN. 

dizzy  horizontal  whirl.  Suddenly  the  whirling 
stopped,  and  as  his  brain  recovered  from  its  con 
fusion,  he  saw  before  him  again  the  pale,  smiling 
face  of  the  master.  He  still  held  his  sword  in  his 
hand,  but  he  was  powerless.  It  was  as  though 
a  leaden  weight  hung  upon  his  will.  He  could 
move  neither  hand  nor  foot. 

"  Put  up  your  sword,  my  child,"  said  the  Count 
de  St.  Germaine. 

Oliver  strove  to  resist  the  command,  but  it 
was  as  though  his  body  was  not  his  own — as 
though  the  master  controlled  it.  His  arm  ap 
peared  to  rise  of  itself,  stiffly,  and  the  sword 
slid  back  again  into  the  scabbard. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  the  master,  "  look  into  the 
mirror  and  see  what  you  shall  see ;  it  is  spoiled 
forever  to  my  sight,  but  for  you  its  power  is  as 
great  as  ever.  Look !" 

Oliver  fixed  his  gaze  upon  the  smooth,  brilliant 
surface  of  the  glass  as  he  was  bidden  to  do.  His 
own  face  stood  there  for  a  moment,  then  blurred, 
faded,  dissolved.  Then  on  this  brilliant  surface 
he  saw  Celeste. 

She  stood  in  her  own  room  as  he  stood  here 
before  the  glass — stiffened  in  every  limb — fixed, 
immovable,  as  though  the  same  leaden  power 
that  overmastered  him  overmastered  her. 

The  master  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  Oli- 


"OLIVER  FIXED  HIS  GAZE  UPON  THE  SMOOTH,  BRILLIANT 
SURFACE  OF  THE  GLASS." 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  167 

ver's  face,  and  perhaps  he  saw  in  that  face  all 
that  Oliver  saw  in  the  mirror. 

"  Ha !"  said  he,  "  it  is  as  I  had  hoped,  my  dear 
Oliver.  I  congratulate  you ;  your  wife  is  yours 
in  heart  and  soul.  That  is  the  secret  of  my 
power  over  her.  I  reduce  you  to  my  will  by 
my  occult  power,  and  at  the  same  time  I  reduce 
her  also.  Observe  now  what  comes  of  it." 

He  made  a  rapid  pass  in  the  air,  and  in  an  in 
stant  Oliver  saw  Celeste's  stiff  and  rigid  form 
become  soft  and  relaxed.  Her  face  was  still 
white  and  stony,  her  eyes,  were  still  set  intently 
as  ever,  but  she  began  moving.  Reaching  her 
hand  out  before  her,  as  though  feeling  her  way 
in  darkness,  she  passed  out  of  the  door  of  the 
room. 

The  master  had  ceased  smiling  now,  and  he 
stood  motionlessly  with  his  gaze  fixed  upon  Oli 
ver's  face.  His  brows  were  drawn  together ;  his 
eyes  sparkled  and  glanced  like  those  of  a  snake ; 
his  very  head  seemed  to  flatten  and  broaden 
like  a  serpent's  when  it  fixes  its  victim.  He 
made  a  quick  gesture  with  his  hands,  and  Oliver 
saw  Celeste  stop,  take  up  a  cloak  from  a  chair 
and  wind  it  around  her  face  and  body  until 
she  was  completely  disguised.  Then  she  moved 
again,  and  presently  Oliver  saw  that  she  had 
passed  out  into  the  dark  court -yard.  As  she 


168  A  MODERN  ALADDIX. 

drew  near  the  great  gate -way,  he  saw  that  it 
stood  open,  although,  no  doubt,  the  porter  had 
long  since  closed  it.  Then,  in  a  moment,  Ce 
leste  stopped  short,  and  Oliver  saw  that  a  coach, 
with  unlighted  lamps,  stood  near  at  the  open 
gate -way.  Suddenly  the  door  of  the  coach 
opened,  and  some  one  leaped  out  from  within ; 
swiftly,  silently,  like  a  hideous  distorted  shadow. 
The  lanterns  at  the  gate  were  unlighted,  but 
Oliver  knew  that  distorted,  shadow -like  figure 
at  once,  and  as  clearly  as  though  he  saw  it  with 
the  eyes  of  his  soul — it  was  Gaspard.  Gaspare! 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  bosom  and  drew  forth 
something  long  and  dark.  As  he  approached 
her  Celeste  began  struggling,  as  though  with 
the  inflexible  though  invisible  power  that  held 
her.  In  her  struggles  the  cloak  fell  away  from 
her  face,  and  Oliver  had  one  dreadful  glimpse  of 
it.  The  next  instant  it  was  hidden.  Gaspard, 
with  one  sudden  movement,  and  in  spite  of  her 
blind  struggles,  had  drawn  the  black  bag  over 
her  head  and  shoulders.  At  that  sight  Oliver 
gave  a  shrill,  piping,  inarticulate  cry.  The  next 
instant  he  saw  Gaspard  pick  her  up  bodily,  and, 
running  forward,  fling  her  limp,  death-like  form 
into  the  coach,  leap  in  himself,  close  the  door 
with  a  crash  that  Oliver  almost  heard,  and  the 
next  moment  rumble  away  into  the  darkness. 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  169 

"Oh  God!"  whispered  Oliver.  "Oh  God! 
Poor  Celeste !  poor  Celeste !" 

"  That  will  do,"  said  the  master ;  "  you  need 
look  no  more ;"  and  in  answer  to  his  words  Oli 
ver  turned  towards  him.  A  shadow  of  a  dusky 
pallor  lay  upon  the  master's  face,  and  beads  of 
sweat  stood  on  his  forehead. 

"It  is  very  difficult,"  he  observed,  "to  psy 
chologize  two  people  at  once  in  this  way,  and 
they  so  far  distant  from  one  another.  I  am  glad 
that  Gaspard  has  taken  charge  of  the  case,  and 
removed  the  strain  from  me." 

Oliver  heard  the  words  with  a  certain  dumb 
consciousness  through  the  agony  that  hummed 
in  his  ears.  He  felt  his  face  twitching  and 
writhing,  and  drops  of  sweat  trickled  down  his 
forehead.  The  master  replaced  his  handkerchief 
and  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  looking  keenly  at  his 
victim.  "You  see,"  said  he,  "it  is  uncomfort 
able,  this  being  ruined ;  but  then  we  should  have 
thought  of  that  before  we  came  back  to  Paris. 
But  I  am  not  yet  done  with  you,  Oliver.  You 
have  lost  your  wife ;  now  your  wealth  must  fol 
low.  Do  you  see  this?"  and  he 
drew  something  from  his  pocket 
and  put  it  upon  the  table  beside  him. 
It  was  the  phial  with  the  black 
label,  marked  with  this  symbol — 


0 


170  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

that  phial  which  Oliver  had  brought  from  the 
mysterious  chambers.  "When  you  and  I  part 
ed  company,  Oliver,  and  I  asked  you  whether 
you  were  satisfied  with  the  result  of  our  twelve 
months  of  labor,  and  you  said  'Yes,'  you  did 
not  think  of  or  care  for  this  other  bottle ; 
you  were  contented  with  the  diamonds  alone. 
It  would  have  been  wiser,  Oliver,  if  you  had 
insisted  upon  knowing  the  properties  of  this 
phial  of  liquor.  What  they  are  I  will  presently 
show  you.  In  destroying  that  mirror  with  your 
accursed  signs  you  did  me  irreparable  harm. 
Nevertheless,  I  know  that  your  diamonds  are  in 
this  house,  for  I  have,  through  certain  Amster 
dam  merchants,  wrho  are  agents  of  mine,  taken 
care  that  they  should  be  brought  here  at  this 
time.  Through  your  present  psychological  con 
dition,  I  can  also  read  in  your  mind  that  you 
know  where  they  are.  Take  this  phial,  Oliver, 
and  lead  the  way  to  them.  I  will  follow,  and 
direct  you  what  further  to  do." 

Once  more  Oliver  strove  to  resist,  but  he  was 
powerless.  It  was  as  though  his  will  was  held 
in  bonds  of  steel.  He  took  the  phial  as  the  mas 
ter  directed,  and  with  the  same  leaden,  heavy 
steps  led  the  way  to  the  marquis's  cabinet,  the 
master  following  behind  him.  With  the  same 
stiff  obedience  to  the  master's  will,  he  went  to 


A   MODEBN   ALADDIN.  171 

the  escritoire,  opened  it,  brought  out  the  keys, 
unlocked  the  chest,  and  flung  back  the  lid.  The 
master  took  the  bottle  from  his  resistless  hand, 
and  uncorked  it  with  his  gleaming  teeth. 

What  followed,  Oliver  only  partly  saw.  He 
heard  a  bubbling,  hissing  sound ;  he  saw  a  dull, 
heavy,  yellow  smoke  arise  to  the  ceiling,  where 
it  spread  out  to  slowly  widening  rings.  Then  it 
was  done,  and  the  master  closed  the  lid. 

"  And  now,  Oliver,"  said  he,  "  since  you  have 
been  so  kind  as  to  do  with  your  diamonds  as  I 
desired,  I  will  ask  you  to  do  one  thing  more  be 
fore  we  leave  this  cabinet.  Sit  down  at  yonder 
table,  and  write  a  letter.  I  will  dictate  it  for 
you." 

Again  Oliver  did  as  he  was  bidden ;  he  drew 
a  sheet  of  paper  before  him,  and  dipped  the  pen 
into  the  ink. 

"  Monseigneur,"  said  the  Count  de  St.  Ger- 
maine,  and  Oliver  began  writing — "  I  thank  you 
for  all  of  your  kindness  to  me.  Those  diamonds 
were  false,  and  more  worthless  than  paste.  What 
they  are,  you  may  see  for  yourself  by  looking 
into  the  chest.  I  am  a  charlatan,  monseigneur, 
and  have  by  a  trick  imposed  these  artificial  dia 
monds  upon  you.  They  have  now  resolved  them 
selves  back  into  their  original  form,  and  I,  in  the 


1Y2  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

mean  time,  have  escaped  from  your  impending 
wrath  with  your  daughter,  whom  I  love.  It  will 
be  useless,  monseigneur,  for  you  to  seek  to  discov 
er  our  hiding-place.  Where  we  have  gone  you 
can  never  follow.  Let  me  say  here  that  my  name 
is  not  Oliver  de  Monniere-Croix,  but  that  it  is 
Oliver  Munier,  and  that  I  am  the  son  of  Jean 
Munier,  a  poor  tailor  of  Flourens,  as  you  yourself 
might  have  discovered  had  you  taken  the  trouble. 
"Adieu,  monseigneur,  and  may  better  luck  at 
tend  you  at  cards  than  in  the  choice  of  your  son- 
in-law.  OLIVER." 

"  There,  Oliver,"  said  the  Count  de  St.  Ger- 
niaine,  "this  letter  will,  I  flatter  myself,  put  the 
finishing-touch  to  your  ruin.  Seal  it  and  address 
it,  and  then  let  us  return  to  the  other  room. 
And  you  shall  call  the  servant  and  send  the  let 
ter  to  papa-in-law." 

Once  more  mechanically  obeying,  Oliver  led 
the  way  to  the  apartment  they  had  quitted. 
The  master  pointed  to  the  bell,  and  in  answer 
Oliver  struck  it.  After  some  delay  the  servant 
appeared,  looking  with  sleepy  wonder  from  Oli 
ver  to  the  visitor,  and  back  again. 

Oliver  turned  to  the  man,  and  then  he  heard 
his  own  voice  speaking  as  though  it  belonged  to 
some  one  else.  "  Take  this  letter  directly  to  your 


A  MODEKN  ALADDIN.  173 

master,"  said  he.  "  It  is  of  the  greatest  impor 
tance,  and  bid  him  from  me  go  instantly  to 
his  cabinet.  Tell  him  something  has  happened 
to  his  diamonds,  and  that  he  will  see  it  all  for 
himself.  Go,  I  say !" 

There  was  something  in  his  tone,  something 
in  his  look,  that  sent  the  man  off  like  a  flash. 

The  master  laughed  as  the  fellow  shut  the 
door.  "  That  man,"  said  he,  "  has  never  been  so 
surprised  in  his  life  before.  You  should  have 
observed  his  face  when  you  spoke  to  him ;  it  was 
a  study.  But  now  I  must  leave  you,  Oliver.  I 
have  some  little  matters  to  attend  to,  and  then 
I  must  go  and  see  whether  Gaspard  has  taken 
your  wife  to  my  apartments  as  I  bade  him.  I 
am  obliged  to  you  for  having  done  everything 
that  I  asked  you  in  such  an  accommodating  man 
ner.  In  return  I  will  give  you  a  piece  of  ad 
vice  :  go  to  the  river,  Oliver,  and  throw  yourself 
into  the  water ;  it  is  the  easiest  way  to  end  your 
troubles.  Your  wife  you  shall  never  see  again 
as  long  as  you  live.  Your  fortune" — he  drew 
his  fingers  together,  and  then  spread  them  quick 
ly  open  with  a  puff — "  it  is  gone ;  and  papa,  the 
marquis  —  should  you  happen  to  fall  into  his 
hands  it  might  be  very  unpleasant.  Yes,  take 
my  advice  and  throw  yourself  into  the  water ; 
the  disagreeableness  will  be  only  for  a  moment, 


174  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

and  then  your  troubles  will  be  over  and  done 
with.  Adieu,  my  child.  Now  go  ;  it  is  my  or 
der  that  you  drown  yourself." 


SCENE  FOURTH. — The  marquis's  dressing-room. 

The  marquis  is  discovered  reclining  in  disha 
bille  beside  a  table  where  some  five  or  six  tapers 
are  burning  ;  he  has  been  very  wearied  with  tho 
excitement  of  the  day.  But,  on  the  whole,  he  is 
satisfied  with  himself;  he  is  glad  that  Oliver  is 
going  back  to  Flourens,  and  still  more  glad  that 
he  will  have  entire  care  of  the  diamonds.  He 
holds  a  book  idly  in  his  hand,  and  gazes  upward 
at  the  ceiling  as  though  through  a  perspective  of 
pleasant  inward  thoughts.  A  knock  at  the  door 
awakens  him  sharply  from  his  reveries,  and  the 
next  moment  August  enters  with  Oliver's  letter. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  said  the  marquis.  "Ah !  a  let 
ter  from  Oliver,  that  dear,  simple  Oliver.  Let 
me  see  what  he  has  to  say."  He  laid  aside  his 
book,  and  opening  the  letter,  began  reading.  As 
he  read,  the  smile  faded  from  his  lips,  his  jaw 
dropped,  his  eyes  glared,  and  a  heavy,  ashy,  leaden 
pallor  fell  npon  his  face.  As  he  ended,  the  let 
ter  dropped  from  his  limp  hand  and  fell  flutter 
ing  to  the  floor. 


A  MODERN   ALADDIN.  175 

Then  the  marquis  rose  to  his  feet ;  he  placed 
his  out  -  stretched  fingers  to  his  forehead,  and 
stood  for  a  moment  or  two  glaring  about  him. 
Then  the  color  came  flaming  back  to  his  face ;  it 
grew  red,  it  grew  redder,  it  became  purple.  Sud 
denly  he  roused  himself  with  a  choking,  inarticu 
late  cry.  He  snatched  up  one  of  the  candles 
from  the  table  and  rushed  from  the  room,  fling 
ing  aside  August,  who  stood  in  his  way,  and  sent 
him  tumbling  backward  over  a  chair  and  falling 
with  a  tremendous  clatter  to  the  floor. 

He  never  stopped  for  an  instant  until  he  had 
reached  his  private  cabinet,  into  which  he  burst 
tumultuously.  He  tore  open  the  escritoire,  and 
feeling  blindly  within  it,  found  the  key  of  the 
chest.  Then  he  dragged  forth  the  chest,  and 
thrust  the  key  into  the  lock.  He  flung  back  the 
lid,  and,  leaning  over,  gazed  stupidly  down  and  in. 

"Where  was  the  glittering  treasure  that  he  had 
left  lying  upon  those  velvet-covered  trays?  It 
was  gone !  Nothing  left  but  a  mass  of  muddy 
charcoal,  here  and  there  whitened  as  though 
turned  to  ashes  by  the  touch  of  fire,  and  all  wet 
with  a  pungent  fluid  that  had  stained  the  purple 
velvet  to  a  dirty  reddish-yellow. 

"  Jean  !  Edward !  Francois !"  It  was  the 
marquis's  voice,  and  it  rang  terribly  through  the 
silence  of  the  Hotel  de  Flourens. 


176  A   MODEKN    ALADDIN. 

The  next  instant  there  came  a  crash  and  a 
heavy  fall,  and  when  the  frightened  servants 
crowded  around  the  open  door  and  into  the  mar 
quis's  cabinet,  they  beheld  their  master  lying 
upon  his  face  under  the  table,  with  an  over 
turned  chair  upon  him,  and  one  arm,  with  its 
clinched  hand,  under  his  face.  He  was  snoring 
with  stertorous  breathing. 


'THEY    BKIIKLD    THEIR    MASTER    LYING    UPON"    HIS    FACE    UNDER 
THE   TABLE." 


A  MODERN  ALADDIN.  177 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  FIRST. — The  Seine  at  midnight. 

DAKKNESS  as  of  death,  and,  excepting  for  the 
hollow  murmur  of  the  river,  silence  as  of  the 
grave,  utter  and  profound. 

The  sky  above  is  a  dim,  misty  opalescence  of 
moonlit  stillness ;  against  it  rise  great,  towering, 
crazy  buildings,  sharp-roofed,  gabled,  as  black  as 
ink.  Across  the  narrow  stretch  of  intervening 
water  tower  other  buildings — crazy,  sharp-roofed, 
gabled,  as  black  as  ink — and  above  all  loom  the 
great  spires  of  the  church  into  the  pale  sky,  pon 
derous,  massive,  silent.  One  broken  strip  of 
moonlight  stretches  across  parapet  and  roadway 
of  the  bridge,  white  and  still.  All  around  it  is 
gaping  blackness.  Suddenly  there  is  a  little 
movement  in  the  darkness,  the  sound  of  a  stum 
bling  step,  halting  and  uneven,  and  then  some 
one  appears  in  the  white  patch  of  moonlight. 
It  is  Oliver,  pale,  hollow-eyed,  dishevelled,  his 
hair  tangled,  his  lace  cravat  torn  open  at  the 
throat,  his  waistcoat  unbuttoned,  his  silk  stock- 


ITS  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

ings  stained  and  spattered  with  mud.  He  reels 
like  a  drunken  man  as  he  struggles  against  the 
invisible  power  that  holds  him  relentless  as  fate. 
Step  by  step  that  power  thrusts  him,  struggling 
and  shuffling,  towards  the  parapet  of  the  bridge. 
He  mounts  it  and  flings  one  leg  over  the  edge. 
Beneath  him  in  the  inky  blackness  he  can  hear 
but  not  see  the  water  rushing  onward  under  the 
arches. 

Suddenly  some  one  touched  Oliver  lightly 
upon  the  shoulder,  and  instantly  he  felt  the  same 
physical  effect  that  had  happened  when  the  mas 
ter  had  struck  his  hands  together  in  the  room  at 
the  Hotel  de  Flourens.  It  was  as  though  a  blow 
had  fallen  upon  him.  Bright  sparks  danced  and 
flashed  before  his  eyes,  his  brain  spun  like  a  tee 
totum  in  a  dizzy  horizontal  whirl,  and  he  clutched 
the  cold  stones  with  his  fingers  to  save  himself 
from  falling.  Then  suddenly  the  sparks  van 
ished  and  the  whirling  ceased,  and  he  awoke 
sharply  as  though  it  were  from  some  horrid 
nightmare.  He  gazed  stupidly  around  him,  still 
sitting  upon  the  parapet  of  the  bridge ;  the  fig 
ure  of  a  woman  stood  within  ten  paces  of  him, 
her  waxy-white  face  turned  full  upon  him,  her 
unwinking  eyes,  sparkling  in  the  moonlight,  fixed 
full  upon  his. 

Olivers  heart  leaped  within  him.     It  was  the 


'SUDDENLY    SOME    ONE    TOUCHED    OLIVER    SLIGHTLY    UPON    THE 
SHOULDER." 


A  MODERN   ALADDIN.  179 

woman  whom  he  had  seen  in  the  streets  of  Flou- 
rens  that  night  when  the  pretended  American  un 
cle  lodged  with  him  and  his  mother,  and  her  face 
looked  upon  him  now  just  as  it  had  looked  upon 
him  when  he  peered  down  upon  her  from  the  gar 
ret  window.  He  slipped  from  the  parapet  of  the 
bridge,  and,  crouching  in  the  shadow  on  the  foot 
way,  ran  rapidly  and  noiselessly  away  from  that 
dreadful,  impassive  presence.  Then,  reaching 
the  end  of  the  bridge,  and  without  slacking  his 
speed,  he  plunged  into  and  wound  in  and  out 
through  the  crooked  streets,  leading  he  knew 
not  whither.  Why  he  ran  he  did  not  know,  but 
something  seemed  to  impel  him  onward.  Sud 
denly  he  passed  across  another  patch  of  moon 
light,  and  as  he  ran  plunging  into  the  shadow 
upon  the  farther  side,  he  turned  his  head  and 
looked  over  his  shoulder.  A  keen  thrill  shot 
through  the  very  marrow  of  his  bones ;  she  was 
following  him — silently,  noiselessly,  swiftly.  He 
quickened  his  gait  into  a  run,  winding  his  way 
in  and  out  through  the  by-ways.  As  he  passed 
into  and  out  of  the  dull  red  glare  of  a  solitary 
lantern,  he  looked  over  his  shoulder  again.  He 
could  see  that  dim  shape  still  following  him,  si 
lent,  ghost -like.  His  heart  gave  another  great 
leap  as  it  had  done  at  first,  and  then  began  to 
thump  against  his  ribs.  The  sweat  was  running 


180  A   MODEKN  ALADDIN. 

down  his  face  in  streams,  his  breath  came  thick 
and  heavy,  and  he  felt  as  though  he  were  stifling, 
but  still  he  ran  onward  in  swift  headlong  flight, 
though  his  feet  felt  heavy  and  leaden,  as  they 
do  in  a  nightmare  dream. 

On  he  dashed  through  mud  and  puddles  in 
the  crooked  streets  or  on  the  side -way,  for 
he  did  not  choose  his  path  now  through  the 
empty  blackness,  now  across  a  patch  of  moon 
light,  now  under  the  dull  glare  of  a  lantern. 
He  had  no  need  to  look  behind,  for  his  soul 
knew  that  she  still  followed.  Suddenly  he  saw 
a  narrow,  crooked  passage-way  in  front  of  him. 
Without  pausing  to  think,  he  doubled  like  a 
hare  and  shot  into  it.  It  opened  into  a  stony 
court  surrounded  with  squalid  houses,  huge, 
black,  silent.  At  the  farther  end  was  a  blind 
wall,  and  Oliver's  heart  crumbled  away  within 
him,  for  an  escape  was  at  an  end.  He  darted 
one  look  over  his  shoulder — she  was  there ;  he 
could  just  see  the  dim  outline  of  her  form  flit 
ting  through  the  darkness.  The  next  moment 
he  ran  headlong  against  the  wall  and  there  flat 
tened  himself,  spreading  out  his  palms  over  the 
rough  surface,  hiding  his  face  against  his  hands, 
panting  and  sobbing  like  a  dumb  creature. 

Five  seconds  passed,  ten,  twenty.  Oliver  look 
ed  fearfully  over  his  shoulder,  and  then  hid  his 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  181 

face  again ;  she  was  there,  silent,  motionless ;  the 
faint  glimmer  of  her  white  face  turned  full  upon 
him.  Again  he  looked ;  she  neither  approached 
him  nor  drew  away,  and  by-and-by  the  impassive 
harmlessness  of  her  stillness  seemed  to  breathe  a 
breath  of  softness  upon  the  black  rigor  of  his  ter 
ror.  A  faint  spark  of  courage  began  to  glimmer 
in  his  heart,  and  one  by  one  the  scattered  forces  of 
his  will,  torn  asunder  by  the  tumult  of  his  blind 
terror,  began  to  gather  together  and ,  to  cohere 
into  some  form. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  quick  flash  of  thought 
to  his  mind.  It  was  plain  she  meant  him  no 
harm,  and  she  was  in  some  mysterious  way  con 
nected  with  the  strange  dark  life  of  the  master : 
might  she  not  give  him  some  news  of  Celeste? 
He  turned  suddenly  around  towards  the  woman, 
and  instantly  as  he  did  so,  exactly  timing  her 
movements  with  his,  she  also  turned.  Fearing 
she  might  escape,  he  stepped  quickly  forward; 
instantly  she  began  to  move  away ;  he  quickened 
his  pace,  she  also  quickened  hers ;  he  began  to 
run,  her  feet  moved  quickly,  silently;  she  seemed 
to  make  no  exertion,  but  he  neither  gained  nor 
lost  a  foot.  At  last,  seeing  the  uselessness  of 
this  crazy  race  through  the  silent  and  deserted 
streets,  he  finally  stopped ;  instantly  he  did  so, 
she  also  stopped. 


182  A  MODERN  ALADDIN. 

"What  is  it  you  want  of  me?"  said  Oliver. 
Then,  again,  receiving  no  reply,  "  What  is  it  you 
want  of  me  ?" 

Still  she  made  no  answer,  but  stood  there  mo 
tionless,  silent. 

"  Then  go  your  way !"  he  burst  out,  desperate 
ly,  at  last.  "  I  know  you  now.  You  are  like 
all  the  rest ;  you  are  a  devil !" 

As  he  spoke  he  turned  and  began  to  walk 
away,  but  he  had  not  gone  twenty  steps  when, 
looking  over  his  shoulder,  he  saw  that  she  was 
following  him  again,  as  she  had  followed  him 
at  first.  Again  he  stopped  and  turned,  and 
again,  as  though  she  were  his  shadow,  she  also 
stopped  and  turned.  A  long  pause  of  silence  fol 
lowed. 

"  Madame,"  said  Oliver,  at  last,  "  I  do  not 
know  why  you  thus  choose  to  dog  my  footsteps ; 
is  there  anything  that  you  desire  of  me  ?" 

K"o  answer. 

He  waited  for  a  while;  the  silence  weighed 
upon  him  like  lead.  "  I  have  done  you  no  harm," 
said  he,  at  last;  "why  do  you  follow  me  thus 
persistently?  Are  you  set  as  a  spy  upon  me? 
Surely  the  master  has  ruined  me  enough !  Does 
he  desire  that  I  should  take  my  own  life  ?  I  was 
about  to  destroy  it  when  I  saw  you  at  the  bridge 
over  there." 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  183 

He  waited  breathlessly  for  a  reply,  but  there 
was  no  answer. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  burst  out  after  a  while. 
"  You  frighten  me  with  your  dreadful,  mysteri 
ous  presence !  What  have  I  to  do  with  you,  or 
you  with  me  ?" 

She  remained  as  motionless  and  as  silent  as  a 
statue. 

" Listen  !"  said  Oliver.  "It  is  less  dreadful  to 
follow  you  than  to  have  you  pursue  me.  Yes,  I 
will  follow  you.  It  is  but  of  little  consequence 
whither  you  take  me,  for  nothing  worse  can 
happen  to  me  than  that  which  I  have  already 
suffered.  Yes,  I  w^ill  follow  you."  He  advanced 
as  he  spoke ;  the  woman  moved  away. 

This  time  Oliver  did  not  hasten  his  steps  as  he 
had  done  heretofore,  but,  keeping  his  eyes  upon 
her,  followed  her  doggedly  and  stubbornly. 

Once  more  they  came  out  upon  the  street 
which  they  had  at  first  left,  and  so  to  the  bridge, 
w^hich  they  crossed.  Now  and  then,  dreading 
lest  he  might  lose  her  in  the  blackness  of  the 
night,  Oliver  hastened  his  steps,  but  invariably 
she  quickened  hers,  so  that  at  last  he  gave  over 
any  fear  that  she  might  escape.  A  hope  began 
to  grow  and  expand  in  his  bosom :  whither  was 
she  leading  him  ?  On  and  on  they  went ;  Oliver 
took  no  heed  whither.  The  streets  now  became 


184:  A   MODERN  ALADDIN. 

broader  and  better  lighted ;  they  had  come  to 
a  better  quarter  of  the  town.  But  Oliver  did 
not  look  about  him ;  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
his  mysterious  guide ;  now  he  did  not  dare  to 
lose  her. 

Suddenly  she  turned  at  right  angles  and  en 
tered  a  narrow,  closed  alley-way.  Oliver  hur 
ried  after,  and  as  he  emerged  into  a  little, 
stony  court  lit  by  the  dull  red  glow  of  a  lantern, 
he  saw  her  whom  he  followed  pause  for  an  in 
stant  before  a  door-way,  and  the  next  moment 
enter. 

He  leaned  against  the  wall  beside  which  he 
stood,  shuddering  and  trembling  in  the  rush  of  a 
blinding  hope.  But  there  was  no  time  for  hesi 
tation  ;  he  must  follow  instantly  if  he  would  not 
lose  sight  of  his  silent  guide.  He  advanced  bold 
ly,  and  without  a  moment's  hesitation  pushed 
open  the  door  and  entered  the  passage-way 
within. 


SCENE  SECOND.— The  master's  apartments. 

His  guide  must  have  been  waiting  for  him, 
for,  by  the  light  of  the  lantern  without,  he  saw 
that  silent  and  mysterious  figure  moving  before 
him,  like  a  part  of  the  shadowy  darkness  itself. 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  185 

For  some  distance  he  made  his  way  along  the 
gloomy  passage,  feeling  with  his  hand  against 
the  wall.  Suddenly  he  fell,  with  a  noisy  rattle 
and  clatter,  upon  the  lower  steps  of  a  stair-way 
that  led  steeply  up  into  a  yawning  blackness 
above. 

He  did  not  hesitate  a  moment,  but  began  as 
cending  the  stairs,  still  feeling  his  way  with  one 
hand  against  the  wall  and  the  other  stretched 
out  in  the  darkness  before  him.  So  he  came  at 
last  to  a  little  landing-place,  and  advancing  slow 
ly,  his  other  hand  presently  touched  the  panels 
of  a  door.  He  fumbled  for  a  second  or  two  un 
til  he  found  the  latch,  then  lifting  it  with  a  click, 
he  entered. 

The  bare,  plastered  passage-way  through  which 
he  had  come  must  have  been  the  rear  entrance 
to  the  apartments  above,  for,  passing  through 
the  door,  he  found  himself  in  what  appeared  to 
be  a  small  dining-room,  as  well  as  he  could  see 
from  the  light  that  came  from  the  stair-way  be 
yond.  It  also  seemed  to  be  richly  and  luxuri 
ously  furnished,  and  he  saw  the  multiple  glim 
mering  twinkle  of  the  light  in  the  passage-way 
beyond  flickering  upon  polished  silver  and  glass. 

But  he  had  no  time  for  observation,  for  before 
him  he  saw  the  figure  which  he  followed  just 
passing  through  the  door  upon  the  other  side  of 


186  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

the  apartment,  and  he  hurried  forward  without 
stopping. 

Beyond  the  dining-room  he  came  out  upon  a 
broad  landing-place  of  a  stair-way,  which  upon 
the  one  hand  led  to  the  apartments  above,  and 
upon  the  other  to  the  ground -floor  beneath. 
The  flitting,  shadow-like  figure  of  his  mysterious 
guide  crossed  this  landing-place  to  a  door -way 
opposite,  and  as  Oliver,  without  a  moment's  hes^ 
itation,  followed,  he  found  himself  in  a  dressing^ 
room.  By  the  ruddy  light  of  the  fire  that 
glowed  cheerfully  in  the  grate,  he  saw  that  the 
room  was  empty;  the  woman  had  evidently 
passed  through  the  door -way  upon  the  other 
side  of  the  apartment,  and  so  into  the  room  be 
yond.  Again  Oliver  hurried  forward,  and  laid 
his  hand  upon  the  knob  of  the  door.  He  tried 
it ;  the  door  was  locked. 

A  hat  with  a  black  feather  lay  upon  the  table ; 
his  eyes  fell  upon  it,  and  then  his  heart  leaped 
into  his  throat.  It  was  the  first  spark  of  recog-. 
nition,  and  then  in  a  flash  that  recognition  was 
complete  :  it  was  to  the  Count  de  St.  Germaine's 
apartments  that  he  had  been  led  by  this  strange, 
silent  guide. 

As  Oliver  stood  there  looking  about  him,  a 
faint  sound  broke  through  the  stillness— a  dull, 
stifled,  moaning  cry.  Again  his  heart  bounded 


CELESTE  !'    BREATHED    OLIVER    THROUGH    THE    CRACK 
OF   THE    DOOR." 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  187 

within  him.  He  bent  his  head  and  listened  at 
the  crack  of  the  door.  Could  he  have  been  mis 
taken  ?  He  fancied  that  he  heard  a  faint  rustling 
in  the  room  within,  and  then — yes,  there  could 
be  no  mistake  this  time !  It  was  the  sound  of 
some  one  crying.  "  Celeste !"  breathed  Oliver 
through  the  crack  of  the  door. 

No  answer;  even  the  faint  rustling  that  he 
had  heard  had  ceased.  Oliver's  heart  throbbed 
as  though  it  would  stifle  him ;  the  blood  hummed 
in  his  ears. 

"  Celeste  1" 

"  Who  is  there  ?"  answered  a  faint  voice  from 
within.  That  voice  was  sodden  and  husky  with 
tears,  but  Oliver  recognized  it.  For  a  moment 
or  two,  in  the  revulsion  of  his  feelings,  he  turned 
giddy  and  faint.  Then  he  began  to  cry. 

"Oh,  Celeste,"  he  sobbed,  "it  is  I— it  is  Oli 
ver  !  I  am  come  to  save  you.  Open  the  door, 
Celeste,  and  let  me  in !" 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Celeste.  "  It  is  locked ;  there 
is  no  key." 

"  But  the  woman  who  has  just  entered,"  said 
Oliver,  "  has  she  not  the  key  ?" 

"The  woman?"  said  Celeste.  "Of  whom  do 
you  speak,  Oliver?  No  one  has  entered  here 
since  that  dreadful  man  who  brought  me  here 
went  away  and  left  me." 


188  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

Oliver  looked  around  him.  Could  she — that 
mysterious  woman — have  left  the  room  by  any 
other  way  ?  [N"o ;  there  were  but  two  doors — 
the  door  through  which  he  had  followed  her  and 
the  door  at  which  he  now  stood.  She  could 
have  left  the  room  in  no  other  way.  It  was 
very  strange,  but  Oliver  dismissed  the  subject 
from  his  mind.  This  was  no  time  to  wonder 
over  the  many  mysteries  that  involved  the  dark 
life  of  the  Count  de  St.  Germaine.  He  must 
save  Celeste.  "  Courage,  Celeste !"  he  breathed 
through  the  door.  "  I  must  go  and  leave  you, 
but  I  go  to  bring  help  to  you.  I  will  save  you, 
Celeste !" 

He  had  no  plan  for  saving  her,  as  he  thus 
promised  to  do ;  but  in  the  elation  of  his  feelings 
upon  having  thus  found  her,  and  in  the  elasticity 
of  his  youthful  confidence,  he  felt  sure  of  his 
ability  to  do  something. 

"But,  tell  me,  Oliver,"  said  Celeste,  "where 
am  I  ?  Why  have  I  been  brought  here  ?  What 
is  to  happen  to  me  ?  Who  was  the  horrible  man 
that  drew  that  awful  black  hood  over  my  face 
in  the  garden  ?" 

"  You  are  in  the  apartments  of  the  Count  de 
St.  Germaine,"  answered  Oliver.  "  He  of  whom 
you  speak  was  that  Gaspard,  and  —  and  I  —  do 
not  know  what  they  will  do  to  you,  Celeste. 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  189 

But  courage,  my  love.  I  must  go ;  but  do  not 
be  afraid;  I  will  save  you,  I  swear  it!  But  I 
must  go.  If  they  find  me  here  they  will  kill 
me_  What  was  that  ?" 

It  was  the  sound  of  the  closing  of  a  door 
below;  of  footsteps  crossing  the  landing  upon 
which  Oliver  had  followed  his  silent  guide. 

"Gaspard!" 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  Count  de  St.  Germaine  ! 

Oliver  stood  as  though  turned  to  stone. 

He  cast  his  despairing  eyes  around.  Where 
should  he  escape  ?  To  leave  by  the  door  was  to 
face  the  master,  whose  footsteps  he  could  hear 
already  climbing  the  stairs  towards  the  room. 
The  window  ?  That  meant  horrible  death  upon 
the  pavement  beneath. 

The  wardrobe !  The  thought  was  an  inspira 
tion.  It  stood  against  the  farther  wall  of  the 
room,  a  huge,  ponderous  structure  of  carved  and 
polished  wood,  inlaid  with  arabesque  patterns  of 
lighter  colors.  There  was  no  time  to  lose ;  the 
master  was  almost  at  the  door. 

The  wardrobe  was  divided  into  two  compart 
ments  separated  by  a  wooden  partition,  against 
which  the  folding  doors  closed.  Oliver  climbed 
into  one  of  the  sides  and  among  the  clothes  that 
hung  from  the  hooks  above,  closing  the  door 
behind  him.  As  he  did  so  he  heard  the  foot- 


190  A    MODERN   ALADDIN. 

steps  of  the  Count  de  St.  Germaine  enter  the 
room. 

Gaspard,  with  his  usual  silent,  cat-like  step, 
must  have  accompanied  the  master,  bearing  a 
light,  for  a  bright  yellow  ray  fell  through  the 
key-hole  and  traversed  the  clothes  amid  which 
Oliver  stood,  as  though  some  one  crossed  the 
room  with  a  candle. 

Oliver  scarcely  dared  breathe  as  he  stood 
there  with  palpitating  heart,  the  sweat  trickling 
down  his  face  in  streams.  He  swallowed  and 
swallowed ;  his  mouth  was  dry  and  clammy. 

The  Count  de  St.  Germaine  spoke ;  his  voice 
sounded  loud  and  resonant  upon  Oliver's  tensity 
of  nervous  strain. 

"  Put  the  lights  upon  the  table  there,  Gaspard, 
and  bring  me  my  dressing-gown  and  slippers 
from  the  wardrobe  yonder." 

The  words  fell  upon  Oliver's  ears  like  a  death- 
knell.  He  braced  himself  to  bear  the  coming 
shock.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his  brain  swelled 
like  a  soap-bubble,  with  a  hollow,  ringing  ex 
pansion.  He  heard  Gaspard's  soft  footfalls  ap 
proaching  the  closet;  it  seemed  as  though  it 
took  minutes  for  him  to  cross  the  room.  He 
heard  the  clever  servant's  fingers  fumbling  at  the 
door,  and  then  the  wardrobe  was  opened— but 
not  the  side  upon  which  he  stood ;  the  dressing- 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  191 

gown  and  slippers  hung  in  the  other  compart 
ment. 

Oliver's  heart  gave  a  great  leap,  and  then  he 
fell  to  trembling  in  every  joint.  Gaspard  closed 
the  door  of  the  wardrobe  again,  and  Oliver  could 
hear  his  soft  footfalls  recrossing  the  floor,  and 
then  the  silky  rustling  as  the  master  put  on  the 
dressing-gown  and  slippers. 

"That  is  good,"  said  the  count.  "Now  go 
and  bring  my  chocolate,  and  then  we  will  look 
at  the  girl  in  the  room  yonder.  She  is  very 
pretty." 

Oliver  heard  the  words  as  clearly  as  though 
he  had  been  standing  beside  the  speaker.  In  an 
instant  his  prostrating  terror  vanished  like  a 
flash,  and  in  its  place  blazed  up  a  consuming 
flame  of  rage.  He  clinched  his  hands  together 
until  his  finger-nails  cut  into  his  palms.  He  was 
upon  the  point  of  flinging  open  the  door  of  the 
wardrobe  and  bursting  out  into  the  room — of 
clutching  that  smooth,  complacent  devil  by  the 
throat.  Luckily  for  him,  his  reason  still  had 
some  governance  over  his  action.  What  could 
he,  Oliver  Munier,  do  against  the  powers  of  hell 
that  the  master  had  at  his  command  ?  No ;  he 
must  wait,  he  must  suffer  to  the  last. 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  said  Gaspard,  and  Oliver 
could  almost  see  the  wretch  leer. 


192  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

Then  he  heard  Gaspard  close  the  door.  A  lit 
tle  time  of  silence  followed.  Then  the  Count 
de  St.  Germaine  began  walking  restlessly  up 
and  down  the  room,  and  after  a  while  he  fell  to 
muttering  to  himself,  and  as  he  passed  and  re- 
passed  close  by  the  wardrobe,  Oliver  could  catch 
snatches  of  what  he  was  saying. 

"  What  is  it  that  lies  upon  me  to-night  ?  Yes ; 
I  feel  an  influence  in  this  room. — Bah !  I  am  a 
fool !  "Why  should  I  fear  ?  I  have  crushed  and 
annihilated  the  only  one  who  the  stars  say  could 
harm  me. — Those  stars  lied.  What  harm  could 
a  heavy,  loutish  peasant  lad  do  to  me  ? — Yes ;  he 
must  be  drifting  down  the  waters  of  the  Seine 
by  now,  rolled  over  and  over,  perhaps,  in  the 
mud  at  the  bottom. — Feste !  To  think  of  his 
having  the  wit  to  destroy  that  mirror  of  mine ! 
If  I  could  only  consult  it  now  I  could  make  sure 
that  he  is  out  of  my  way. — Those  fools  are  some 
times  possessed  with  certain  cunning  of  their 
own."  So  he  continued  muttering  to  himself, 
passing  and  repassing  the  wardrobe. 

Presently  he  stopped  in  his  walk  and  his  solil 
oquy,  and  Oliver  heard  a  tinkling  chink  of  china. 
It  was  Gaspard  bringing  in  the  chocolate.  Then 
he  heard  the  sound  of  a  chair  drawn  back,  and 
then  the  faint  gurgle  of  the  liquor  poured  into 
the  cup,  the  rattle  of  the  sugar  in  the  bowl,  and 


A   MODERN    ALADDIN.  193 

the  click  of  the  spoon.  There  was  a  pause,  and 
he  could  distinctly  hear  the  master  take  a  sip. 
He  replaced  the  cup. 

"Now,  then,  Gaspard,  the  girl,"  said  he; 
"  bring  her — "  He  stopped  abruptly,  and  a  long 
pause  of  silence  followed.  "What!"  at  length 
exclaimed  the  Count  cle  St.  Germaine.  "Is  it 
you  again?  What,  then,  do  you  desire?  This 
makes  the  third  time  this  week.  Listen!  I 
have  warned  you,  I  have  besought  you,  but  it 
seems  that  I  can  influence  you  neither  by  the 
one  nor  the  other.  I  am  weary  of  this  impor 
tunity.  I  will  reason  no  more.  Gaspard !" 

Oliver  heard  a  quick  step,  a  rustling,  and  then 
the  sound  of  a  fierce,  silent  struggle.  Hereto 
fore  he  had  been  afraid  to  move  in  the  ward 
robe  ;  now  he  could  resist  no  longer.  He  stoop 
ed,  and  peered  through  the  hole.  Just  across 
the  room  from  him  was  Gaspard,  grinning  hor 
ribly  as  he  struggled  silently  with  some  one. 
Yes ;  it  was  with  the  woman  whom  Oliver  had 
followed  there. 

But  that  struggle  lasted  only  for  a  moment. 
The  next,  Gaspard  had  drawn  his  black  bag  over 
her  head,  as  Oliver  had  seen  him  do  once  before. 
Then  the  struggle  instantly  ceased,  and  she  stood 
silent,  immovable.  Gaspard  picked  her  up,  flung 
her  over  his  shoulder,  turned,  and  the  next  mo- 

13 


194:  A    MODEEN    ALADDIN. 

ment  had  vanished  out  of  the  narrow  range  of 
Oliver's  outlook,  who,  however,  still  remained 
with  his  eye  glued  to  the  key-hole. 

Suddenly  an  object  intervened;  it  was  the 
back  of  the  master's  dressing-gown.  Oliver 
could  see  nothing  but  just  that  little  circle  of 
cashmere  cloth ;  the  master  was  not  four  feet 
away  from  him.  The  cashmere  cloth  was  inno 
cent  enough,  but  the  sight  of  it  filled  Oliver 
again  with  that  blind,  ungovernable  rage.  He 
straightened  himself  from  his  observations  at  the 
key-hole.  But  as  he  did  so  his  elbow  struck 
against  the  partition  alongside  of  him.  He 
heard  a  rustle,  and  knew  as  well  as  though  he 
had  seen  it  that  his  master  had  turned  quickly. 

"What  is  that?"  said  the  Count  de  St.  Ger- 
maine's  voice,  sharply. 

Oliver  knew  that  he  was  discovered,  and  there 
upon  his  blind  rage  broke  through  all  restraints 
of  reason  and  caution.  "It  is  II"  he  roared; 
and  flinging  wide  the  door  of  the  wardrobe,  he 
sprang  like  a  cat  at  the  throat  of  the  other.  As 
he  sprang  he  clutched,  and  as  he  clutched  he  felt 
his  fingers  instinctively  close  not  only  around 
the  soft  folds  of  the  cravat,  but  also  around  the 
links  of  a  chain  beneath. 

The  master  went  staggering  back  at  the  un 
expected  attack,  and  as  he  did  so  his  slipper  heel 


HK    FOUND    IN    HIS    CLINCHED    HAND    A    LACE    CRAVAT." 


A   MODEKN   ALADDIN.  195 

caught  in  the  edge  of  the  rug  behind  him,  and 
he  fell.  But  as  he  fell  he  shouted  aloud,  "  Gas 
pare!  !  Help !" 

It  was  all  over  in  an  instant.  The  master  lay 
prostrate  on  the  floor,  and  as  Oliver  staggered 
back  from  the  recoil  of  the  attack,  he  found  in 
his  clutched  hand  a  lace  cravat  and  the  chain, 
which  had  parted  from  the  Count  de  St.  Ger- 
maine's  neck  with  a  sharp  snap.  Something 
hung  by  the  chain.  It  was  a  little  silver  case, 
thicker  than,  but  about  half  as  long,  as  a  snuff 
box. 

There  was  a  momentary  pause  as  Oliver  stood 
glaring  at  the  master,  still  unconsciously  clutch 
ing  the  cravat  and  the  chain  in  his  hand.  The 
other  had  raised  himself,  and  was  now  staring 
back  at  Oliver  with  wild,  dilated  eyes,  and  a 
face  haggard  and  white  as  death.  The  next  in 
stant  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"My  talisman!"  he  shrieked.  "Give  it  to 
me !"  and  he  raised  his  quivering  fist  in  the  air 
as  though  he  w^ould  strike  Oliver  with  it. 

At  the  same  instant  a  shrill,  exultant  voice 
sounded  at  the  door :  "  Keep  it,  Monsieur  Oliver, 
keep  it !  Do  not  give  it  to  him !  It  is  his  life !" 

It  was  Gaspard  who  spoke.  And  as  t)liver 
turned  his  dazed  eyes,  he  saw  the  clever  servant 
standing  in  the  door-way,  hopping  up  and  down, 


196  A    MODERN    ALADDIN. 

grinning,  wagging  his  head,  and  waving  his  bony, 
sinewy  hands  madly  hither  and  thither. 

Oliver  was  stupefied  with  the  tempest  of  pas 
sions  that  raged  in  and  about  him.  The  master 
might  have  taken  what  he  chose,  and  he  could 
not  have  moved  to  resist  him.  But  this  the 
master  did  not  do.  He  gave  a  shrill,  piping, 
despairing  cry,  and  the  next  moment  made  a 
rush  for  the  door,  his  cashmere  dressing-gown 
flying  behind  him  like  brilliant  wings.  He  flung 
Gaspard  aside,  and  the  next  instant  Oliver  heard 
his  pattering  feet  flying  up  the  stairs. 

"  What  does  it  all  mean  f  said  Oliver,  stupidly. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?"  cried  Gaspard.  "  Are 
you  a  fool  ?  Open  the  box !  open  the  box !" 

Oliver  mechanically  obeyed  him. 

Within  was  a  little  roll  of  soft  linen,  yelloAV 
with  age.  He  unrolled  it,  and  within  that  again 
found  a  little  crystal  ball  about  the  size  of  a 
dove's  egg.  He  could  see  that  it  contained  what 
appeared  to  be  a  dull,  phosphorescent  mass  that, 
as  he  held  it  in  his  hand,  seemed  to  pulse  and 
throb  in  the  light  of  the  candle ;  now  glowing 
with  a  bluish  light,  now  fading  away  to  a  dull, 
milky  opalescence. 

Again,  for  the  third  time,  Gaspard's  snarling 
voice  broke  on  his  ear.  "  Oh,  thou  fool !  See 
him  stand  like  a  lump!  Pig!  Do  you  not 


A   MODEKN   ALADDIN.  197 

know  that  the  master  is  busy  with  his  books  ? 
A  moment  more  and  all  is  lost!  Crush  that 
ball,  or  you  are  a  dead  man !" 

His  words  spurred  Oliver  to  sudden  action. 
He  raised  the  globe  high  in  the  air,  and  flung  it 
upon  the  floor  with  all  his  force.  It  burst  with 
a  flash  of  light  and  a  report  like  a  pistol,  and  in 
stantly  the  air  was  filled  with  a  pungent,  reddish 
vapor. 

The  next  instant,  as  the  thunder  follows  the 
flash  of  lightning,  there  came  a  dull,  heavy  rum 
bling,  as  from  the  cellar,  and  the  floor  swayed 
beneath  Oliver's  feet,  as  though  the  house  were 
toppling.  He  looked  around ;  the  door- way  at 
which  Gaspard  had  stood  was  empty ;  the  clever 
servant  was  gone. 

Then  suddenly  a  confusion  of  sounds  broke 
upon  the  stillness  of  the  house :  struggles  and 
scuffles,  snarling  of  voices,  and  squeaking  as 
though  of  rats,  the  rattle  and  crash  of  furniture 
pushed  about,  thumping  and  banging  as  of  peo 
ple  wrestling  and  falling  against  the  doors.  The 
next  instant  there  was  a  sound  of  a  heavy  fall,  a 
shrill,  long-drawn,  quavering  scream,  and  then 
the  lull  of  dead  silence. 

Oliver  stood  like  a  statue,  listening,  as  though 
he  had  been  turned  to  stone.  He  heard  a  door 
open,  and  then  the  sound  of  footsteps,  and  a 


198  A   MODEKN   ALADDIN. 

strange  clacking  and  clattering  upon  the  stairs 
without ;  a  heavy  panting  and  breathing.  Oliver 
ran  to  the  door  and  looked  up  the  stairs.  Gas- 
pard  was  coming  down  out  of  the  black  gloom 
above.  Over  his  shoulders  he  carried  something 
limp,  like  an  empty  skin  or  a  bundle  of  clothes 
tied  together.  Part  of  what  he  carried  he 
dragged  clattering  down  the  steps  behind  him ; 
another  part,  a  round  lump  the  size  of  a  man's 
head,  hung  down  over  his  shoulder,  wagging 
from  side  to  side.  The  next  moment  the  clever 
servant  had  come  into  the  square  of  light  from 
the  open  door- way  of  the  room.  That  light  fell 
full  upon  the  round  lump  that  hung  wagging 
from  his  shoulder,  and  in  the  one  instant  of  pass 
ing,  Oliver  saw  a  dreadful,  a  hideous  face,  ashy- 
white,  and  with  eyes  rolled,  one  upward  and  one 
downward,  so  that  only  a  rim  of  the  pupils 
showed.  The  jaws  gaped  and  clapped  as  the 
head  wagged  from  side  to  side.  It  was  the  face 
of  the  Count  de  St.  Germaine. 

Oliver  stood  spellbound,  horrified,  watching 
Gaspard  as  he  descended  the  steep  flight  of  steps, 
bearing  that  ghastly  burden.  As  the  clever 
servant  passed  under  the  dull  light  of  the  lamp 
below  he  turned  his  head  and  looked  up.  His 
mouth  gaped  wide  with  impish,  noiseless  laugh 
ter;  he  thrust  his  tongue  into  his  cheek,  and 


"OVKIl   HIS    SHOULDKRS    HE    CARRIED    SOMETHING    LIMP,   LIKE 
AN     KMI'TY    SKIN,    OR    A    BUNDLE    OF    CLOTHES     TIED    TO 


GETHER." 


A    MODEKN   ALADDIN.  199 

with  an  ugly  leer  and  wink  of  one  of  his  black, 
bead-like  eyes,  he  passed  by  and  down  the  steps 
beyond,  the  feet  of  the  figure  clicking  from  step 
to  step  behind  him. 

Oliver  watched  him  until  he  reached  the  bot 
tom  of  the  steps  and  passed  out  from  the  house 
into  the  night  beyond ;  there  was  the  bang  of  a 
closing  door,  and  then  dead  silence. 

The  next  moment  Oliver  was  at  the  door  of 
the  room  wherein  Celeste  was  confined.  "  Ce 
leste  !"  he  screamed,  "  for  God's  sake,  come ! 
Leave  this  awful  place  !" 

"  What  is  it  ?"  answered  Celeste  from  within. 
"Am  I  then  saved?" 

"  Yes,"  cried  Oliver,  in  the  same  shrill  voice, 
"  you  are  saved !  But  come !  come !" 

"But  the  door,"  said  Celeste.  "It  is  locked, 
Oliver." 

"Ah,  peste!  I  had  forgotten.  Stand  away 
from  it."  As  he  spoke,  he  rushed  against  the 
door,  flinging  himself  bodily  upon  it.  It  shook, 
but  did  not  open.  Again  he  dashed  himself 
against  it,  and  this  time  with  better  success. 
The  lock  snapped,  and  as  it  flew  open  inward 
Oliver  plunged  headlong  into  the  room  be 
yond. 

Celeste  stood,  white  and  terrified,  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  floor.  "  But  am  I  indeed  saved  ?"  said 


200  A    MODERN   ALADDIN. 

she.  "  Where,  then,  is  Monsieur  cle  St.  Ger- 
maine  ?" 

"  Do  not  ask  me,  Celeste,"  cried  Oliver,  hoarse 
ly.  "  Come !" 

As  they  passed  through  the  room  beyond,  Ce 
leste  looked  up  into  his  face. 

"What  is  it?"  she  cried.  "What  has  hap 
pened,  Oliver  ?  Tell  me." 

But  Oliver  could  not  answer ;  he  only  shook 
his  head. 

Upon  the  landing  without,  Celeste  suddenly 
stopped  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 
"  Hark !"  said  she.  "  What  is  that  ?" 

Oliver  listened  breathlessly.  A  dull,  monoto 
nous  sobbing  sounded  through  the  house.  It 
came  from  the  apartment  above. 

"  Oh,  Oliver !"  cried  Celeste,  u  go  and  see  what 
it  is." 

Oliver  shook  his  head.  "  I  cannot  go,"  said 
he,  huskily.  "  I  am  afraid.  You  do  not  know, 
Celeste,  what  an  awful  place  this  is!  If  you 
had  seen  what  I  have  just  beheld — " 

"  But  you  must  go,"  said  Celeste  ;  "  perhaps  it 
is  another  in  trouble  like  myself.  I  will  wait 
for  you  here,  Oliver ;  I  am  not  afraid." 

Oliver  could  not  resist  such  an  appeal ;  he 
turned,  and  began  heavily  ascending  the  stairs 
to  the  floor  above.  A  door  at  a  little  distance 


A   MODERN   ALADDIN.  201 

stood  ajar ;  it  was  thence  that  the  monotonous 
sounds  came.  He  advanced  hesitatingly  towards 
it,  and  reaching  out  his  hand,  pushed  it,  and  it 
gaped  slowly  open  upon  the  room  beyond.  Oli 
ver  only  looked  within  for  a  moment,  and  then 
turned  and  walked  stupidly  away,  but  what  he 
saw  in  that  one  glance  was  impressed  upon  his 
mind  in  an  image  never  to  be  erased. 

Tables  and  chairs  were  overturned  ;  books  lay 
torn  and  scattered  upon  the  floor.  In  the  mid 
dle  of  the  room  sat  the  woman  whom  he  had 
first  seen  in  the  moonlit  street  at  Flourens,  and 
her  pale,  vacant  eyes  were  fixed  blankly  upon 
him.  Her  white  lips  were  slightly  parted,  but 
there  was  never  a  twitch  upon  the  face  that 
uttered  those  monotonous  sobs  that  sounded 
dully  through  the  silence. 

Upon  the  floor  lay  stretched,  bruised,  battered, 
and  bleeding,  the  withered,  shrunken  figure  of 
an  aged  man,  his  limbs  a  mass  of  dried  skin  and 
bones.  The  yellow,  parchment  -  like  skin  was 
stretched  over  his  head  and  his  face  so  tightly 
that  it  seemed  as  though  it  would  crack.  The 
shadow  of  death  brooded  upon  him  as  he  gazed 
with  filmy,  sightless  eyes  into  the  dark  hollow 
of  eternity  that  lay  beyond.  His  breast,  for  a 
long  time  motionless,  now  and  then  heaved  con 
vulsively  with  the  laboring  breath.  Such  was 


202  A   MODERN   ALADDIN. 

the  vision  that  Oliver  saw  in  that  one  glance. 
Then  he  turned  and  walked  away. 

"  Who  was  it,  Oliver  ?"  said  Celeste. 

Oliver  answered  never  a  word,  but  taking  her 
by  the  hand,  led  her  forcibly  down  the  stairs 
and  out  of  the  house. 


A   MODEKN   ALADDIN.  203 


EPILOGUE, 

THEEE  was  a  seven  days'  gossip  in  Paris.  All 
manner  of  rumors  were  afloat,  for  strange  things 
had  happened  at  the  Hotel  de  Flourens.  The 
marquis  had  had  a  sudden  stroke  of  apoplexy 
upon  the  very  day  of  his  daughter's  wedding. 
But  when  they  had  called  the  family,  she  and 
that  handsome  young  husband  of  hers  were 
nowhere  to  be  found.  They  had  left  the  hotel, 
and  did  not  return  again  until  long  after  night 
fall.  Where  they  had  been  was  a  profound  se 
cret  which  they  kept  locked  within  their  own 
breasts.  But  the  poor  marquis,  he  was  dying. 
He  had  never  once  spoken  since  he  had  fallen 
under  the  attack.  Dr.  Haymond-Brasse,  and  the 
other  physicians  who  attended  him,  said  that  it 
would  be  little  less  than  a  miracle  if  he  lasted 
until  Wednesday. 

Presently  other  rumors  began  to  get  abroad. 
That  vast,  fabulous  wealth  of  the  interesting 
Count  de  Monniere-Croix  had  vanished;  not  a 
crumb  of  it  was  left.  The  debt  had  been  paid 


204:  A    MODEEN    ALADDIN. 

off,  both  upon  the  chateau  and  upon  the  hotel, 
but  that  was  all.  It  was  almost  inconceivable 
that  the  marquis  had  squandered  that  stupen 
dous  fortune  away  in  three  months,  but  how 
else  could  the  matter  be  explained  ?  It  was  all 
very  strange  and  mysterious. 

Another  thing  agitated  the  world.  The  Count 
de  St.  Germaine  had  vanished !  lie  had  gone ! 
It  was  rumored  that  the  Prince  of  Hesse-Cassel 
had  sent  for  him,  and  that  he  had  departed. 
Certainly  the  Paris  world  saw  him  no  more. 


A   MODERN    ALADDIN.  205 


AFTER  THE  PLAY. 

TING  !  A-LING  !  A-LING  !  King  down  the  curtain, 
the  extravaganza  is  ended.  The  red  and  blue 
flames  are  quenched,  the  pasteboard  scenery  is 
pushed  back  against  the  wall,  the  mock  jewelry 
is  tumbled  into  the  bandbox,  and  all  the  charac 
ters  have  gone  into  their  dressing-rooms  to  wash 
the  paint  off  their  faces.  The  lights  are  out, 
and  nothing  is  left. 

But  what  does  it  mean  ?  Who  was  Monsieur 
de  St.  Germaine  ?  Who  was  Gaspard  ?  Who 
was  the  old  man  who  died  just  now  ?  And  that 
mysterious  woman,  was  she  the  better  life  of 
Nicholas  Jovus,  which  he  had  materialized  along 
with  the  evil  life?  Was  it  possible  that  he 
could  not  materialize  the  one  without  the  other  ? 
Does  it  all  mean — 

"  My  good  friend,  why  do  you  ask  me  ?  You 
have  seen  just  as  much  of  this  extravaganza 
as  I." 


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